EVA Sessions: NGV, The Three Children
by Gob Hobblin
Summary: A young boy of remarkable deductive ability is called from the emerging power of Japan to London in 1891. Here, he will be introduced to a copy of his mother and a girl of remarkable fighting prowess, while attempting to solve his father's murder. But is it as straightforward as it seems? The first book in Neon Genesis Victoria.
1. The Young Man from Tokyo

London of the year 1891 was a great deal larger than Tokyo, and a great deal more dirty. The air was choked with smog, the river was very nearly black, and the streets were crammed with humanity and the detritus that collected in its wake. This was, however, the sign of progress. It was those ironic tells that made the whole story plain to the eyes of Shinji Ikari: the British Empire was vast. London was the fruit of its labors.

His mother's grip on his hand tightened. He squeezed back. She was not the figure of yamato nadeshii that she was expected to be at home, and had made a name for herself as a giant in fields held by men, but she had lived her whole life in a land less rapid and more underdeveloped. The blast of human motion assaulted her senses, and made her nervous, even safely behind the railing of the ferry as it putted down the Thames. "This is a very crowded place," she murmured.

"Merely another place. It will hold the future for us very shortly," Shinji replied. After all, it was the place his father had died.

* * *

Traveling by boat was a consideration for his mother, as she had gotten a nasty case of vertigo the last time they had been up in a dirigible. He didn't blame her, as he had felt his knees go weak himself. The airships in Japan were a bit more flighty than stable American and European ones, however, so they would probably try to repeat the experience here. First time arrivals were not the ideal method to experiment with interesting forms of travel, so it had been more traditional; through the South China Sea, around India, up through the Gulf of Persia, a short jot by train past the slowly expanding Suez Trench, in time to be an actual Canal, and by boat through the Mediterranean to Marseille. From there, a train to the north coast of France and a ferry to the docks before them. They had the pleasure of pushing a good way up the Thames and enjoying many of the sights, before being brought to their departure point . From there…who knows? Shinji lacked the data for that.

"I wish we were back in Tokyo," Yui sighed. Shinji laughed, squeezing her hand.

"No, you don't. You're too curious."

"Yes. But I can still want certain things." She sighed, sadly. "I wish, for instance, that I could be less surprised by Gendo's death."

"Hmm. I wish I could be, as well. Dr. Fuyutsuki's telegram was vague, but…telling."

"And what," Dr. Ikari asked, "Did it tell you?"

"Of plots. Naturally. Father always plotted, and I can't be surprised that this is what it brought him to. Ah, well. We should have answers, soon enough." He quieted as the ferry pulled up to the dock, ropes being tossed and a gangplank being set.

As they stepped off the boat, Shinji noted the small, wiry man that had fixed them with his eyes. He was dressed well, but had the distinct look of a rodent, and on either side of him were two bullish men. Everyone was staring at them, of course; despite their white skin and blue eyes, and Western dress, there were too many features about them that screamed 'foreigner,' and more than once, Shinji had heard 'Oriental' muttered in a less than kind tone. This individual before them gazed with an air of recognition. Shinji went through the Files, and deduced this could only be one of about ten men. When the fellow came up to them and began speaking, that list narrowed to one.

"Ah, Master Shinji, and Mrs. Gendo—"

"In Japan, family names are placed first, therefore the proper term of address for me would be Master Ikari. In the wake of my father's demise, I believe it would be more appropriate to call me Mr. Ikari, as I am the inheritor of his estate," Shinji responded in a snappish tone, a light accent lapping at his vowels and consonants. "Further, my mother is Dr. Yui Ikari, a respected biologist in her own right, and I believe that it would be a much more proper greeting to address her as such."

The man blanched, stuttering for words. He was very well respected in the world of Scotland Yard, and an intimidating man to some, but he found himself talked into silence by a young foreign boy. The conversation had a familiar air to it, one that made him cringe. The two large fellows flanking him glanced at one another, sensing that same note of similarity.

"Eh…I…apologize, greatly. Foreign cultures is unfortunately not my specialty, of course, so I meant no disrespect." His words were educated, but his accent guttural, low-brow. He removed his hat, bowing lightly. "I am…"

"Inspector G. Lestrade of Scotland Yard, how do you do? I was told to meet you by Dr. Kozo Fuyutsuki in a recent telegram. Allow me to tender my congratulations." Shinji extended a hand. The Inspector stared. Dr. Ikari smiled, looking at nothing in particular.

"Most grateful…" Lestrade murmured, accepting the offered hand. It was too uncanny, he thought to himself, a strange dread looming somewhere in the back of his mind. Dr. Ikari leaned next to her son, and asked, "Shinji, I apologize, but your being vague again. What are you congratulating the Inspector on?"

"His recent role in the acquisition of the Piccadilly Strangler, with, of course, the aid of a certain…private asset. I heard talk about it on the boat."

"Oh, of course," Dr. Ikari said, smiling. It was probably something more subtle than that, but Shinji tended to avoid flaunting his observational skills in front of others.

"I believe that you are here to escort my mother and I to our lodgings before explaining to us the circumstances involving my father's recent death?" he asked the Inspector.

"Yes, and no," the police man managed, finding his ground again. "I have instructions instead to escort you to the offices of the man currently helming the investigation into your father's death."

"I was under the impression that was you?"

"In an official capacity, yes," Lestrade said, his expression one that implied he would say no more. Shinji interpreted a lot from that, adding it to the Files.

"I would rather we go to the hotel, first. It's been a long journey, and I would like to see to my mother's comfort."

"If you will excuse me, but my associates," he gestured to the two giants, both of which politely tipped the front of their bowlers, "Have been assigned to escort your mother and luggage. My explicit instructions are to escort you, however, to a meeting with the investigator posthaste." Shinji bristled slightly. He didn't like being told what to do, and he didn't like the idea of being separated from his mother so soon upon entering London. He hated unanswered questions even more, however.

He turned to his mother, blue eyes meeting blue. She sighed, her gloved fingers tapping against each other in a thoughtful staccato. "Well, gentlemen!" she said, with a brilliant smile that made the three policemen blush, "We have a lot of luggage, so it's good to see I have two strong fellows to help. Shinji," she turned to her son, "Go ahead with the Inspector. I'll set myself to getting more familiar with our new home for the time being. Shall we?" She held out both hands, and the two undercover officers both offered an arm. A small doll between two large dogs, the Japanese woman escorted the suddenly shy men back to the dock.

"It seems," the Inspector asked, "That you have the intent to stay for awhile in London." Shinji smiled, sensing that Lestrade was not privy to a lot of goings-on in the world.

"My dear Inspector," the boy explained, "My father has died under suspicious circumstances, my mother and myself have been called to London to find out why, and now you are taking me to the home of the world's foremost detective. I can assure you that I will be compelled to stay in London for a time whether I choose to or not."

* * *

The older but still attractive woman that answered the door to 221B Basil Street had the look of a person desperately clinging to some modicum of decorum, and failing utterly. Despite that, she fought to keep that image in every way and shape possible, which gave her the distinct air of serene franticness. It amused Shinji down to his toes, but he kept his face impassive. "Good day, Inspector," she beamed.

"Mrs. Hudson, how are you? I've brought a young guest for Mr. Holmes, a Mr. Ika…Shinji Ikari," he said, nodding his head towards the boy. He had butchered the pronunciation, but was making an effort, and Shinji appreciated it. Mrs. Hudson eyed the child, that sense of deja-vu apparently in the air.

"Oh, I see. How-do-you-do, young-man?" Shinji was short for his age, and she had leaned over to speak and enunciate each word. She had seen he was foreign, and that he was young, and had adopted a vague, middle-of-the-road approach in speaking to him. In anyone else, the affect would have been insulting. For her, he simply felt bad.

"Very well, thank you, considering my long journey and father's murder. I take it you already have a guest, judging from the occupied hat stand. I warrant Dr. Fuyutsuki is already," he replied. She straightened with a sigh, a look of resignation in her eyes.

"Christ blood, there's two of them," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "All right, bring him inside, Mr. Lestrade. I hope you like tea?"

"Very much so, but I have yet to sample English teas," Shinji commented, entering the house past the policeman. Lestrade had stepped aside to allow Shinji in first, and to scan the street one last time. He was, Shinji noted, slow but careful, and had a sense of paranoia about him that was above healthy for a man of his trade. Despite the awkwardness of their first meeting, Shinji found he admired facets of Lestrade. "I trust," he said, remembering his mother's request to be polite, "That you will be a good judge as to what my first sampling should be."

"I'll get some biscuits as well. But first, this way, please." She had taken their hats and coats, and had now begun to ascend the flight of stairs, and Shinji followed. Their home in Japan was of the newer variety that had drifted in with the Meiji reforms, and he was amused to see how close in style the two were. Following the landlady, she escorted her guests to an open door. Entering, she announced them.

"Inspector Lestrade here to see you, with a Mr. Shinji Ikari," she said.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," a voice called from inside. Never one to shy from curiosity, Shinji entered the room, and perused the occupants. There were three men, and it was not hard to tell who was who. The first, the one who spoke, was dressed in very fine clothing, with a trim and athletic build. He had a cane, a gold pocket watch, a wedding ring, and a finely groomed mustache. He was not an old man, but carried himself like one. The other was thin, bohemian in appearance, and had a generally messy habit about him. Except for the eyes. They were very aware eyes, very piercing. It was as though he was seeing too much, but didn't care to stop looking. He was fiddling with a coin, rolling it over and under his fingers. The third man was familiar to Shinji. Sharply dressed and in his sixties, the regal Dr. Kozo Fuyutsuki was a good friend of the Ikaris.

"Dr. John Watson, I presume," Shinji addressed the first man, bowing slightly. "And the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I understand that you are the one investigating my father's death. And, Dr. Fuyutsuki. It's a pleasure to see you again."

Watson's eyebrow rose slightly, and Holmes continued to fiddle with the coin. Fuyutsuki smiled knowingly, but said nothing. Lestrade came up next to him. "I didn't tell him a thing," he said, his hands up in defense.

"Of course you didn't," Holmes murmured, as though far away. "Thank you, Inspector, that will be all!" he snapped, standing with a rapid motion that made Watson sigh, Shinji flinch, and Lestrade sputter.

"I…eh…" He surrendered, and left the room, muttering and slamming the door on the way out. Holmes circled the desk, snatching a piece of paper off of it. He handed the note to the boy.

"What does this letter tell you?" he asked.

Shinji looked at him, suddenly curious. He eyed the note. Snatching it, he rubbed it between his fingers, sniffed it. He studied the writing, the quality of the ink. There were smudges, a red spot. He licked the red spot, deducing it was not blood, but some sort of wine.

"Heavy parchment, not paper. Very odd in this day and age, leather texture. Ink is water-based, common variety, written using what appears to be a stick or twig, not a quill. Penmanship is bad, the grammar is atrocious. French, or trying to pass as French. The smudges are added later, as though to make it appear the letter was more abused than it was. Red discoloration is some sort of wine, fermented drink. I don't drink, so I can't tell you what kind, but the splatter indicates it was meant to be mistaken for blood.

"The contents of the note imply a murder by the Gaston, an assassin for hire who specializes in French expatriates. Signature is that of a Ramon du Chant, implying minor nobility. So…" he hands the note back. "You have a young s0-called aristocrat who's out of money trying to fake his own death and doing it poorly."

"Remarkable," Watson commented.

"And all at the tender age of fifteen," Holmes commented. "Right on all counts, except for one. You did not account for the grammar."

"Of course I did," he said, "The grammar is poor because the nobleman is not actually French. Most likely he is a conman, who's con is running out."

"Why not say so before?" Watson asked.

"He did say so before. The 'so-called aristocrat'…" Holmes seemed to be lost somewhere in his head, and Shinji's expression was concerned. He looked at the note, still in his hand.

"This has nothing to do with why my father is dead," he said, a look of disappointment on his face.

"It has everything to do with his death," Watson explained, "Not the note itself, of course. That's a keepsake from a previous case. Your analysis of it, however, is of the utmost importance."

"A test?" Shinji asked.

"A young man of incredible deductive reasoning skills and observational prowess," Holmes murmured. He looked down at the boy, "Exactly as the father described."

"You knew my father outside of this case," Shinji stated. It was not a question, and he knew it to be fact, not truth.

"Yes, a brilliant man with an advanced knowledge of physics, mathematics, and philosophy. Quite the intellectual, and a student in his own right of deductive theory," Holmes replied, "But he informed us that, to his credit, his son had the potential to outshine him. Dr. Fuyutsuki here has also confirmed it."

"That seems odd, coming from my father," Shinji replied, suddenly uncomfortable, and glancing at Kozo. The man had not said one word in the entire conversation. "He was not an uncaring man, but…praise wasn't something that came naturally to him."

"No, it was not, which is why we gave his assessments such serious consideration," Holmes replied, flicking tobacco ash away from his shirtfront. "He was very clear in his opinion of you, as well as in his instructions that you should be brought to London."

"My father left instructions? This is new information. Not surprising, but it definitely changes things," the boy noted, running his thumb across his upper lip. What game was afoot here? "Is it, then, that I may have some hand to play in deducing my father's murderer?"

"Oh, we know who killed him," Holmes said in a matter-of-fact tone, "It's getting to him that's the issue."

Shinji blinked. "I understand that you like to let people reason these things out on their own," he said, "And are impatient when they can't keep up, but I fear that I don't have all the information to understand _precisely_ what's going on."

Holmes said nothing, and Watson made a face at him. "The issue, my dear boy," Fuyutsuki finally said, walking over to Shinji, "Is nothing less than saving all of civilization."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson deposited the tea to the office. Holmes and Watson occupied two chairs, Fuyutsuki leaned on the mantel, and Shinji paced. "Do you know of the recent death of Lord Blackwood?" Fuyutsuki asked, sipping his tea.

Shinji thought on it. "That's a case that's four months old. A murderous member of the Temple of the Four Orders, a quasi-Masonic organization. Went through four girls before being stopped by Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. They interrupted him while he attempted a fifth murder. He was supposed to hang this month."

"He did," Fuyutsuki confirmed.

"So what of it?" Shinji asked.

"He hanged, and then rose from the grave. Our own Lazarus," Holmes said, wry amusement in his tone.

Watson continued. "What my associate means to say is that Lord Blackwood's grave was broken open from the inside, and a body not his own was found in the casket."

Shinji felt his morbid curiosity prickle. "Someone switched bodies?"

"No. In fact, we have witnesses reporting Lord Blackwood to be up and walking about, a most curious notion considering we watched him hang," the detective noted. "The good Dr. Watson confirmed his death, as did I. We didn't wish to take the chance of any ulterior actions influencing the outcome one way or the next. The neck was broken, the pulse was gone. He was as dead as poor Gladstone over there." Shinji glanced at the English bulldog in question, lying in a corner of the room with it's feet in the air.

Watson turned with some mild annoyance. "Did you…finally kill the dog?"

"No, but the metaphor still stands," Holmes said, cryptically.

The dog convulsed for a moment, before being still. Shinji pursed his lips, and turned away from the unconscious animal. "Hmm. A curious case. But what of it with my father? Do you suspect this Lord Blackwood of having a hand in his death?"

"Without a doubt," Kozo commented. "Your father's carriage was destroyed by an explosive vest strapped onto a suicidal bomber. One of Lord Blackwood's specialties was hypnosis, and the influencing of destructive or suicidal tendencies in those who lacked them. Did you know, for instance, that of the four girls that were murdered and disemboweled by Lord Blackwood, all of them did it with their own hand?"

"Yes, I did," Shinji said thoughtfully, leaning against the window. On the street corner, he spied three plainclothes police officers idly watching the house. There was a tension in the air. "So it was Lord Blackwood. A dead man who you cannot find."

"That's how it seems," Kozo admitted.

"Why would he target my father? What purpose is there in his death?" Shinji asked.

"Because he perceived something that Lord Blackwood did not wish for him to perceive," Holmes said in amusement. He stood, and flicked his tea into the fire place. "But what it was is just as much a mystery as to the Lord's designs and location."

"So why bring me into this?" Shinji asked. Kozo smiled, but asked the obvious question.

"What do you mean?"

"You clearly desire me to have some place in this case. Your words indicate as such."

"This is true," Kozo admitted, "But there's more to it, than that." Holmes walked over to the boy, studying him.

"How is it," he asked, "That you recall the information you see? How you organize it?"

Shinji thought about his answer carefully. "Through the Files, I call them. I visualize my mind as a filing cabinet, and each fact and idea as a separate file."

"Is it efficient?"

"It's never been inefficient."

"Remarkably like the method of loci, or the memory walk. Have you heard of this technique?" Holmes asked.

"Partially, but I have not had experience in it," the boy admitted.

Holmes nodded. "I have had some success in teaching this to my associate there," he said, gesturing to Watson, "And it has proved to be a great aid to him. He has remarkable deductive talent, built upon hard work and a natural intelligence."

"However," Watson interjected, somewhat irritated at being the topic of conversation, "I will be the first to admit that I do not have the natural talent for deduction that Sherlock Holmes has. Or you, as it were."

Shinji studied them each in turn, and looked out the window. The three policemen had been replaced by three more policemen. "You wish to train my deductive abilities? Teach me this method of loci?"

"Yes. To hopefully take up your father's work. There are…enemies. Dangerous foes that array themselves against the British Empire, as we are currently the premiere nation on the face of this Earth. And they will do anything to have their way with us," Holmes admitted. Shinji looked at him skeptically, then at Kozo.

"So? I'm Japanese. I have my own empire and my own loyalties. Why would I assist you and your empire, especially given our national rivalries in the Pacific and Indian Oceans?"

"And yet, you could not dispute the chaos that the world would plunge into should the British Empire find itself collapsing. That is the prime defense of being the top power; should you collapse before there is a willing contender to take your place, the result is…rather messy, wouldn't you say?"

Shinji laughed. "Why, Mr. Holmes, I never figured you to be so acutely aware of political realities! I assumed that would be more your brother's specialty."

"It is," Holmes admitted, a look of irritation crossing his face at the mention of his brother. "But I must admit that…certain realities have not escaped my attention. They did not escape your father's, either. It is why he and the good Dr. Fuyutsuki have assisted us."

The boy pondered that for a bit. He watched the street, allowing it to fade from his sight as the files flowed into mind. He processed all the data he had, and begrudingly came to a single, logical conclusion. He was already in London, and his curiosity was too strong to ignore. And the opportunity to learn from the great Sherlock Holmes was simply too tempting to pass up.

Besides, the greatest mystery he had ever possessed was understanding Geno Ikari. Maybe he could leave this place with some modicum of knowledge as to who his father truly was, and why.

"Very well," he sighed, opening his eyes. "I will stay here, and assist you in your investigations. I look forward learning your deductive techniques, and will work to aid you in bringing justice to this Lord Blackwood. And, at the end of this case...perhaps...I can be compelled to stay and continue to assit you and your...British Empire."

Holmes hummed in satisfaction, Watson looked pleased, and Kozo...Shinji thought he very much looked like a cat that ate the canary.


	2. Lessons in the Palace

Shinji took his leave of the detective, with the promise to call upon him in two day's time, at nine in the morning. It was agreed that Mr. Holmes would be on a government retainer to assist in the instruction of Shinji, as well as Dr. Watson, who would temporarily close his practice. This was thanks to the influence of Dr. Fuyutsuki, who assured them that just the possibility of the boy coming to aid him was worth the investment.

The Japanese gentlemen decided to leave with the boy, offering to escort him back to the hotel where his mother had been taken, the Grand Hotel in Piccadilly. After the two were settled in his carriage, Dr. Fuyutsuki smiled. "I'm sorry for being so obtuse, Shinji. I had to let Holmes figure you out for himself. What are your thoughts on the Great Detective?"

"Pretty much as expected," Shinji admitted. "From what I've read on Mr. Holmes, he is not especially known for being…personable."

"Coming from you, I find that highly amusing." Shinji shrugged, looking out the window.

"Who did the body in the crypt belong to? The one that replaced Lord Blackwood?"

"One of the night watchmen, a fellow named Candor Prudock. He was on duty when Lord Blackwood made his 'return.' Aside from occupying the casket, there is no discernible connection between him and the magician."

"A dead end?" Shinji asked, smiling.

"A literal one," Dr. Fuyutsuki muttered, not feeling amused at the pun. He allowed a silence to settle on the cabin, and asked, "How is your mother taking this?" Shinji glanced at the doctor. The man had been his mother's former professor, and had always had a tender spot for the woman.

"You know her," Shinji smiled, "Polite, cheerful. You wouldn't realize her husband has just died. But…sometimes." He shrugged. "Well, I feel it just hasn't really come home yet."

"And you?" Shinji looked at the elder doctor, and saw some concern in his eyes.

"Me? Hmm." The boy had to think about it. "I feel the need to be busy. To place things in order. But sad? No. It's strange, isn't it? I should feel something about him being dead, but…" He shook his head, waving his hand in the air as if to fend off an errant fly.

"You weren't very close," Dr. Fuyutsuki observed. Shinji said nothing. The doctor assumed that was the end of the conversation, and turned back to the window when the boy asked a quiet question.

"How is…Miss Katsuragi?"

_That_ did bring a smile to the old man's face. "Your old governess? Or should I say armorer?" Shinji gave an ugly look, and Dr. Fuyutsuki realized he had made a joke in light of genuine concern. "You're wondering if she was one of the three bodyguards in the carriage." Shinji nodded, his right hand tightening. "No. No, she was not. I warrant that if she was riding with your father, he would still be alive."

Shinji relaxed, some tension leaving his face. "So…why was she not in the carriage?"

"Your father assigned her and his assistant to a project about a month before the bombing," Dr. Fuyutsuki said.

"His assistant? That would be Dr. Ristuko Akagi, yes?" Shinji's eyelids drooped in thought. "Why would Miss Katsuragi be assigned to a project with Dr. Akagi? Did she gain some sort of talent for biology in the time she's been away?" He smiled. "Or is there something _else_ that you've neglected to tell me?"

Dr. Fuyutsuki groaned, waving the boy off. "I will _not_ get drawn into this with you. It's bad enough with either of the Holmes brothers, and now having to deal with you would be simply too much."

"You work with Mycroft?" Dr. Fuyutsuki winced again, glaring at the boy.

"Yes. And you will, too, in time, assuming you show the talent for it. Now stop fishing!" Shinji glimpsed out the window, a wicked grin on his face as Dr. Fuyutsuki glowered. Stop fishing, he thought. Who was the fishermen, and who was the fish?

* * *

Shinji was able to secure the promise from Dr. Fuyustuki that he would arrange a chance for him and Miss Katsuragi to meet. The doctor declined to visit Dr. Ikari, uncertain as to what he would say to her. Filing the the reaction away, Shinji thanked him, then walked up to the rooms that would be his new home for the next month, until they could secure a move to his father's townhouse. It was currently closed off by orders of Scotland Yard, for purposes of the investigation.

He found his mother red faced. Her cheeks were soaking wet, and she laughed when her son entered the room. "I'm sorry!" she said. "It just started, and I don't know how to stop."

He asked a busboy in the hall for some tea, and sat his mother down. "I was unpacking the trunk, and fussing over the latch. It was broken, and I just got to thinking how I would have to ask your father to get us a new one." She was still crying, but smiling as well, and she held up her hands helplessly. "And here I am!"

"There you are," he said with warmth, kissing her on the top of her head and resting his hand on the back of her neck. She hugged him, and sighed. "You're a sweet boy, Shinji."

"You would be the first to say that," he chided, stepping back to inspect the trunks. She had unpacked two, but there were two more that needed attending, as well as some smaller pieces of luggage.

"It's your fault, for not being nicer to people," she accused, wiping her face with the palm of her hand. She sniffed, and stood, brushing her hands against her dress to dry them.

"If people were more interesting, I would be nicer. I can't stand idiots."

"That sounds like your father," she sighed, "And not the best part of him, sonny." He gave her a teasing look, and he opened the first trunk.

"Books?" his mother asked reproachfully, looking over it. "That was supposed to be your formal clothes."

"These will prove more important in the long run, I think," he said. "Some choice tomes from Father's library. I didn't know the manner of his death, but I knew his interests. I figured…these would probably be the most likely sources for assistance."

"And now we will need to go and get you more formal wear," she sighed, belatedly. He grunted, starting to organize his books.

"Don't grunt at me," Dr. Ikari said disdainfully, "And don't stack those in the middle of the room. This is a parlor, not a library."

"They won't be here for long, just long enough for me to find a new spot for them," he countered. Dr. Ikari sighed.

"You're going to be a handful now that we're in London, aren't you?" Shinji smiled at her.

"Of course. I'm your son, so you have no choice but to love me, regardless."

She tousled his hair, a wicked grin on her face. "We'll see about that!"

* * *

The next morning, Dr. Ikari and her son departed for the morgue to reclaim the remains of Prof. Gendo Ikari. It was a quiet trip, and the weather was predictably dreary. It was a cause for concern to Shinji. He knew that London was known for its smog and fog, but his mother had lived with sunlight and gardens for most of her life. He was afraid that the environment would have a negative affect on her health and disposition. He was less concerned about himself. A place was a place was a place, he remembered reading from somewhere. It adequately described his inclinations.

The morgue itself was in the basement of Scotland Yard. While the remains would have normally been held within one of the hospital's in the area, the sensitive nature of Prof. Ikari's death, combined with his government contacts, ensured his body would be here instead. Upon arriving to the headquarters for London's Metropolitan Police, they were greeted by a portly doctor named Smythe, who looked something like a walrus in a lab coat. He was flanked by two uniformed constables.

"You would be the family of Gendo Ikari?" he asked, as Shinji helped his mother out of the carriage.

"Yes. I am his son Shinji Ikari," he said, shaking the man's hand. "This is my mother, Dr. Yui Ikari."

"How do you do, ma'am? I must confess, I read your dissertation on musculature structures when it was translated by Dr. Finn Cluney. It was most fascinating reading, especially for a pathologist."

"You are most kind, Dr. Smythe. Thank you for the compliment."

"Indeed. If you will come this way I will…take you to the body."

They made their way through the hallowed halls of London's famed law enforcement agency, down three flights of stairs to the main morgue. Checking in, they were brought to the cold room. It was here that Shinji felt his first moment of hesitation. It occurred to him, now and truly, that his father was dead. He stopped at the entrance, earning a concerned look from his mother. "Shinji…" she whispered.

"It's all fine. All fine," he mumbled, and pushed into the room. Dr. Smythe walked them over to the locker his father was in, slab 23B. "I apologize," he said, "But your father was next to the explosive device when it detonated. As such, the remains are…well. The deed was done, as it were. I must warn you, it is not for the faint of heart."

Dr. Ikari nodded, and said, "Thank you, Dr. Smythe, but I am a medical doctor, and though this is my husband, I am certain I have seen worse. And my son has a constitution that would put yours to shame. With all due respect."

The morgue doctor shrugged, and unlatched the locker. He pulled out the slab. The remains were small, and uneven, covered by a white sheet. "If I may?" Shinji asked, taking a corner of the sheet. Clearly surprised, the doctor stepped back.

"Be my guest," he said.

Shinji began to draw back the sheet, and paused, looking at his mother. Her lips were tight, but she nodded. Taking a breath, he removed the sheet and studied what was under.

The arms, legs, and torso had all been separated from each other, and were badly burned. The head was gone, likely disintegrated, and the distinct smell of burnt hair and smoked meat emanated from the corpse. Dr. Ikari closed her eyes and swallowed, but Shinji leaned forward.

"Could you please, Dr. Smythe, enlighten me on the state of the body? What happened during the bombing?"

"Witnesses said that the bomber threw himself into the carriage and physically grabbed Prof. Gendo Ikari. When the bomb exploded, the blast was sufficient to remove the top of the carriage, kill the driver and two bodyguards present, as well as one of the team horses. Several people nearby were injured."

"The burns?"

"We determined from chemical testing that the bomber must have had a bottle of phosphorus next to the bomb. Burns from people near the blast would coincide with that."

Shinji rubbed his cheek. He scanned the body from top to bottom, feeling that little doubt in his mind. Why, he didn't know. "What was the state of the bodyguards?"

"The driver was thrown from the carriage. He was killed when he broke his neck on the landing. The other two were killed by the explosion, but blown clear."

"Were their bodies intact?"

Dr. Smythe blinked. "Well…yes."

"Are they still here, with the body of the bomber?"

There was a rapid exchange of glances between the constables and the morgue doctor. "Well…yes. I take it your wish to see them?" Shinji nodded. The doctor escorted him to each slab. The three bodyguards were, indeed intact, though two were horrifically burned. The bomber was a different story. His torso was nonexistent, though his head, arms, and legs remained, charred and black.

"Who was he?" Shinji asked.

"As near as we can tell, a vagrant, known in the Rookery as Simple Soot. That was based on witness descriptions and the fact he disappeared two weeks before the bombing. We have no idea how he came across the explosives for the blast, much less the phosphorus. His motives are still a mystery."

Shinji nodded. He doubted that 'possession by Lord Blackwood' would be a common motive passed around Scotland Yard. He nodded, satisfied. "Was there any requests my father may have left concerning the body? He has been gone from Japan for two years, so I am uncertain if he made any legal arrangements here."

"I'm glad you asked," the doctor said. "We did contact the law offices he called on, and they said he had a few legal requests. One of which was, in the event of his death, to cremate the body for transport back to Japan. Hopefully, to be interred in a shrine, as per your customs."

"I see. Yes, that would be good. Is there a crematorium you could recommend?"

"We can handle those details if you wish," Dr. Smythe said.

Shinji thanked him, and escorted his mother back up to the carriage. As they drove away, Shinji stared out the window, sorting details in his Files. "So," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," his mother said quietly.

"Good. Dr. Smythe will handle the details for us. I appreciate his assistance."

She nodded. "Have to keep up appearances, right?" she asked.

Shinji smiled. "You noticed it, too."

Yui sighed, closing her eyes as an expression of pain crossed her face. Shinji regretted being so cavalier, and took her hand. "I was married to him for sixteen years. Two years of absence wouldn't change my memories of him." Shinji nodded, looking out the window.

"We can't tell anyone, or let it slip what we have observed," he said, "There is something else at work here." His mother began to cry, but nodded. As for Shinji, he sighed. "Well, father," he said out loud, "Another nice little conundrum."

That was not his father's body. Which begged the questions: was Gendo Ikari truly dead? And if so, where was his body and why?

* * *

Mother and son agreed to not discuss the issue, nor bring it to anyones attention at all. Shinji felt he would have liked to discuss it with Holmes, or Dr. Watson, but decided against it. There were still too many variables that needed clarification.

The next day, he showed up at 221B Basil Street at nine o'clock sharp, to begin his tutelage on the method of loci. He was pleased to see that Dr. Fuyutsuki had made good on his promise; Miss Katsuragi was waiting in the parlor. "Shinji!" she said happily as he was let in by Mrs. Hudson.

"Miss Katsuragi!" he exclaimed, dropping his hat. "I had no idea you would be here today!"

"The doctor told me you would be starting your instruction today," she said happily, "So I wanted to wish you luck." She held out her hands, taking Shinji's. "I also hoped we could arrange a better time for us to meet. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

"I hope you have answers," he chided. "I haven't been able to find many in my time here."

"You've only been here for three days," she teased. "You're as impatient as I remember you. And so skinny!" She tousled his hair. "Has none of the training I given you taken?"

"I have kept up with kendo, a little judo," he said defensively, "And our Siamese gardener taught me some Muay Boran. It's a hard skill to keep up with, I admit. Tough on the shins."

"Shinji!" The voice was from the top of the stairs. Holmes was standing on the staircase. "Are you here to train your deductive abilities, or continue flirting with 'the Governess?'"

Shinji blushed down to his shoes. Misato gave the detective a mean look, then turned to Shinji. "Another time. I have so much to tell you!"

"Thank you, Miss Katsuragi. Another time," he agreed.

"Shinji, please. Call me Misato. We've known each other long enough," she said with a brilliant smile. As she left, he heard the detective grumble at the top of the stairs.

"Women," he began, "Do not be fooled, young Shinji! There is no more cunning creature, no greater danger posed to men of logic and reason, than the members of the female sex. Before you know it, they shall have their claws in you, and you will be domesticated. Worse than death." He shuddered, and turned. "Come, boy! Your future awaits."

* * *

His future, as it was, consisted of a regimen that fluctuated between the instruction of the pragmatic Watson and the flighty Holmes. In the hands of the Doctor, the method of loci was very much a science, ordered and structured. It was not what one could call brilliant, but it was clear that Watson was far more intelligent than the average man on the street. As it turned out, he took the lion's share of teaching duties.

Often, this would be interrupted by a quip or observation from Holmes, usually some odd tangent or strange direction which turned out to be brilliant in the end, and Shinji's education would hop up to a new level. Though Holmes described his understanding in terms that were clinical and scientific, it was clear that he approached logical deduction as though it was an art. From time to time, Dr. Fuyutsuki would drop by to check on Shinji's education, and report back to his superiors, who Shinji strongly suspected was Mycroft Holmes. As time progressed, Shinji began to construct what Holmes called a mind palace, brick by mental brick.

The concept was a novel one, and not too entirely different from Shinji's self-taught method of the Files. The basic idea was that the practitioner built an architectural construct in his mind. It didn't have to be a literal palace, but it needed plenty of rooms, so the name stuck. Some individuals would visualize a garden instead, or a particular neighborhood, or simply doubled and tripled the size of their childhood home, giving subtle difference to each variation of the house.

In Shinji's case, his palace had taken the outward shape of the glorious Himeji Castle, with an interior based upon European-styled rooms mixed with Japanese-styled ones, specifically rooms he recalled from his own past. Within this space, certain thoughts would then be assigned to rooms via category, taking the place of art or furniture or other items. One merely needed to 'walk' to the room in their palace, then look for the 'item' that corresponded to the proper memory. With enough training, one could gather 'items' with them, and carry them from room to room, forming more advanced concepts. At least, that was the method as taught by Holmes. As far as Shinji understood, the method of loci did not describe a single technique so much as a family of techniques, each varied and differing depending on the abilities or preferences of the practitioners.

For Shinji, the method was more efficient than the Files; he had to admit that. The Files were orderly, and easy to draw from, but uniform. By organizing his mind into a more distinctive structure, he found his recall of certain things very nearly instantaneous, a vast improvement on what his abilities were before.

Obligingly, Lord Blackwood made nary a peep during the month.

That pattern broke on the day that Misato finally had a chance to visit, incidentally the twenty-eighth day of his time under Holmes and Watson. Shinji was at 221B, sitting in a chair at the table near the window, which was the cleanest portion of the room. His hands were in front of his face, his fingers forming a little steeple. His eyes were closed, and he was adding a new room to his palace, while simultaneously solving a riddle in Greek that Holmes had made up on the spot. The door opened, and he recognized the sound of Dr. Watson leading Gladstone into the apartments.

"Hello, Shinji," he said.

"Good morning, Doctor." There was a brief silence.

"Where's Sherlock?"

"In the room."

There was a second silence. "Where?"

"I don't know. I lost track of him thirty minutes ago, but I know he's here." Shinji opened his eyes, watching the bulldog circling the carpet. In spite of the varied intentional and unintentional torments Gladstone had been subjected to in this house, he always seemed happy to come here. "I hear his breathing from time to time; it's hard to track," Shinji offered.

Watson nodded, glancing around. "He did this once when we were roommates. Took three days for him to emerge. For the life of me, I could never figure out—"

A dart flew from somewhere, and buried itself in the dog's hindquarters. It whined, and fell over as stiff as a board. "Sherlock!" Watson snapped, his eyes darting around the room.

From…somewhere…the detective emerged with a blowgun. "Not to fear. Merely testing an extract from the night lily common to Anatolia. In small quantities, it produces a paralysis, most effective for dealing with unsavory individuals. It's mostly harmless. Gladstone should be…" he eyed the animal, which was starting to convulse and foam at the mouth, "…probably all right."

"How do you do that?" Shinji asked.

"Well, it's really quite simple, it's merely a matter of standing where you're not looking," Sherlock said with a smile, twirling the blowgun like a baton.

"I suppose it's too much to ask if there's an antidote?" Watson asked, snatching the blowgun away.

"Why, of course, dear Watson. Do you think I would take such risks with precious Gladstone's life without proper fail safes?" He handed the doctor a syringe, and Watson went to attend to Gladstone.

At this moment, Mrs. Hudson let herself into the room. "Mr. Ikari," she said, "There's a Miss Katsuragi here to see you." She was doing better with the accents on the names, and her prim English accent did wonders in the improvement, Shinji noted. He felt he would have to tell her that later; Mrs. Hudson seemed to react well to praise like that, considering the temperament of her current lodger.

"Ah," Holmes said conspiratorially, "Dear Nanny has received the Governess."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Shinji said, circling around the desk. "I shan't be moment," he said to Holmes.

"Take your time, please," Dr. Watson insisted.

"Really? Give leeway to my pupil over my objections?" Holmes sneered. "Careful not to dawdle too long with the Governess, Shinji. She is already decided to call upon you in my haunts. No telling what other liberties she'll take once she's through the door." He looked around, a sudden horror on his face. "Feminine touches everywhere, before you know it. Throw pillows. Table cloths. Little pictures of fat children dancing in the fields. Lace doilies." He shuddered. "The worst punishment a man can endure: doilies."

Watson had ignored most of the exchange up to that point to ensure that Gladstone could stand up. He interjected at the far-away mention of 'doilies.' "Who's taken the brunt of the education? Had to close down his practice to do so? He's more my pupil than yours, isn't he? Shinji!" he barked, "Take the day off. Spend it with your friend. Holmes won't object. Won't you?" Holmes looked like he very much _wanted_ to object, but he said nothing. Watson had a talent for backing the smarter man into a corner, if not with logic, than sheer bullheadedness. Holmes tended to make up for it by backing Watson into corners with surreal and hard-to-follow conspiracies in which his friend was forced to participate. It was often tit-for-tat.

Shinji excused himself, giving the victory to Watson. It was only fair, as two nights ago, Holmes had ensured Watson's accompaniment to a showing of _The Marriage of Figaro_ via the clever use of three street urchins, a timely bar brawl, a bomb threat, and a Wild Man of Borneo from a passing circus. Dr. Watson's wife, Mary, had been less than pleased.

He hurried down the stairs to see Misato standing in the lobby. "Hello, Shinji," she said, smiling.

"I'm glad to see you, Misato. It's been a month," he said, somewhat accusingly.

"I apologize, I really do. I've been very busy with my other duties."

"I hope you can tell me something about those today," he said, raising an eyebrow. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, smiling sadly.

"Mr. Ikari," Mrs. Hudson said, "You are free to use the parlor if you like. This house might as well be yours, you visit so much." She raised an inviting hand in the direction of said parlor, directly underneath Holmes' apartments upstairs.

"Thank you so much. Could we trouble you for some tea as well? I hate to ask."

"I already had it on the boil. You should know me by now," she said with a wink, and disappeared into the kitchen. Misato led Shinji into the comfortable room, and took a seat. As opposed to the chaos of the upstairs apartment, this room was clean, orderly, and pleasant, as it was firmly in the established domain of Mrs. Hudson. Shinji sat across from Misato, settling in.

"I believe the project you were working on contributed to my father's death, else he wouldn't have assigned you to security on it," Shinji said. It was clear that was what Misato was doing. She was no scientist, however clever she was.

"Aside from me not being there to protect him, you mean?" she said, a guilty look crossing her face.

Shinji waved that off. "Misato, please do not think I hold any responsibility over your head for what happened. I know that was Father's doing. So does Mother. You have no guilt to take from us in the matter."

She seemed grateful at that, and leaned back. Mrs. Hudson introduced the tea and quietly departed, and Shinji poured two cups. "Still, it's clear that he wanted more security to the task you are involved in than to himself."

"I doubt that it was why he was killed," she said, "Blackwood has no inkling of the project we are involved in, and honestly, I don't see how it would be of any benefit to him."

"Will I, perchance, learn of this project in time?"

"You will, most likely, as well as the organization that is responsible for its conduct," Misato admitted.

"Which, I take it, is housed in that closed off wing of the British Museum?" he said with a grin. She smirked at him.

"You've been busy."

"Always," he said devilishly. "I know the location of the organization, but not its name and purpose. I must admit, such a group that can hide their clues from _me_ must be formidable."

"Why not simply ask your tutor? He has a habit of deviling us just for the fun of it," she said, pointing to the ceiling.

"I have. He won't talk, and he made Dr. Watson promise not to, either. He likes to devil me as well, you know. I should mention that riddle he just gave me. He claimed it was Greek, but I'm fairly certain it was a language of his own devising."

She laughed at that, when there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson went to answer, and Shinji stood to see who it was. To his surprise, it was Constable Clark.

"Clarky!" he said, smiling. The policeman had visited three times previously, to report 'all's well' on the Blackwood investigation. He was a dry-witted, patient, amiable, and deceptively clever man, and adjutant to Inspector Lestrade. He was the perfect assistant, and would be the perfect Inspector himself if he continued his career.

"Mr. Ikari. I mean, Shinji," he said, shaking his hand. Shinji had made an effort to get the man on a first-name or more familiar basis. He liked him, and wanted to continue working with him. "And Miss Katsuragi! It's been far too long."

She offered her hand, and he accepted it politely. "Constable Clark, it's good to see you, too. Shinji, I'm glad you've made this man's acquaintance. I've had the chance to work with him when your father was assisting Mr. Holmes. A better policeman has yet to surface."

"You're too kind, ma'am," he said, blushing slightly. When he pulled his hand back, Shinji noted with amusement that he rubbed his wedding ring. Misato had that affect on men.

"Is Mr. Holmes in?" Clark asked.

"Yes, with Dr. Watson, upstairs. What's the news?" Shinji asked.

"Well…not good, I fear," Clark said, angling towards the steps.

"Still no sign?" Shinji asked, slightly disappointed.

"Worse," Clark said. "There's been a big one. Lord Blackwood has murdered the Lord Chief Justice."


	3. A Pattern of Flesh

**A quick word from Gob Hobblin**: After writing out this particular chapter, it occurred to me that the subject material was starting to take a much darker direction than I had originally planned. Specifically, this chapter. It's not that it's gory, but it does toe the line enough (in my mind) that I don't want to risk overstepping the bounds of the agreement with , so I'm bumping the rating up to M, primarily for that. I hope that doesn't drive any of the readers away from the story. I've had a chance to see some of your reviews, and I'm grateful and pleased that there's been a positive reaction so far. I hope you continue to read and enjoy this work, and offer your criticism and observations. Many thanks!

* * *

The carriage ride to the Temple of the Four Orders allowed Holmes a chance to expound upon the significance of Sir Thomas Rotheram's death. The former Lord Chief Justice had been much more than a man of prominence in the British legal system.

"Once, when compelled to attend a certain function at the insistence of my brother," Holmes sniffed, "I had the opportunity to meet with the Sir Rotheram. It was at that meeting that I observed on the index finger of his right hand a most curious ring, a simple gold band with an ox symbol engraved upon it. It was then I deduced him to be a man of some prominence in the occult society of this city. Upon asking your father," he waved a hand at Shinji, "He confirmed that, while the ox was a totem of great importance in many societies, that particular ring could only be worn upon the hand of the one who held position as the Grandmaster of the Temple of the Four Orders."

"So Sir Rotheram was the head of the Temple?" Watson asked.

"Do try to keep up, Watson," Holmes chided, earning a cold look. "There was something else in that meeting that did not occur to me until the day that we assisted in the arrest of Lord Blackwood. A theory was formed in my mind, one that took hold almost instantly, until the events of today solidified it as truth beyond a doubt."

"And that is?" Misato pressed. Holmes mumbled, put off his rhythm for a moment. She had insisted on coming with them, and he had been perturbed by that.

"That Lord Blackwood is the son of Sir Thomas Rotheram."

"Really?" That was news to Watson, and Misato, who were familiar with Sir Rotheram only as a public figure. Shinji merely looked at everyone with a blank face. It had no more a drastic affect on him than anything else concerning the Lord Chief Justice.

"Of course. Certain physical features were retained from the deceased Lady Blackwood, from whom he gained his title and position. The color of the eyes, of course, as well as the curious deformity of the right upper incisor. And yet the hairline, the shape of the ears, and the distinct pattern of the jawline did not lie. If not by parental affiliation, Sir Rotheram was assuredly closely related to Lord Blackwood. Considering the affiliation of Lady Blackwood with the Temple, as well as certain tantric practices associated with their more covert activities, the most likely course is…"

"…an illegitimate son," Shinji finished.

"I did not know Lady Blackwood was connected to the Temple," Watson admitted.

"It was how Lord Blackwood was introduced," Misato said. She turned to Holmes. "It does make sense, your theory of parental affiliation. It was Sir Rotheram who sponsored Blackwood's entrance and rise through the Order. It was also his guidance that allowed us to assist you so closely in his acquisition."

"Guilt for the prodigal son," Holmes mused.

"Did Blackwood know about the connection, I wonder?" Shinji pondered.

It was Watson who spoke next. "He had to. If what Holmes says holds, as well as Miss Katsuragi's assessment, Lord Blackwood would have figured it out for himself, if Sir Rotheram hadn't outright told him. Blackwood is no fool."

"Well spoken, Watson," Holmes murmured. There was a curious thrill that Holmes seemed to experience whenever Watson made a deductive leap like that, Shinji noted. The relationship seemed much closer than that of friends or colleagues. More like siblings. That was confirmed by the good-natured bickering that followed.

"That's high praise coming from someone who didn't know the earth revolved around the sun," Watson said quietly.

"I have said, time and again, it is simply not relevant information for me to concern myself with," Holmes grumped.

"And as I have said, time and again, the bloody _solar system_, Holmes!"

"I do not see what the movement of so-called celestial bodies has to do with the motives of the criminal element," Holmes retorted.

"It's common knowledge, Holmes, simple—"

"Gentlemen." They both turned their attention to Misato, who was smiling sweetly. "The carriage has stopped. I believe that means we are at our destination."

The door was opened by Constable Clark, who had taken the shotgun position with the driver to allow Misato to accompany them. "Oh," Holmes said, as if waking up from a dream. "Splendid. Crack on." He tumbled out of the carriage, followed by Shinji, then Watson, who remained to help Misato down. It was not necessary, of course, but manners demanded certain courtesies to women, and Misato appreciated the compliment.

The Temple of the Four Orders was a grand structure, designed in the fashion of a Masonic Temple or Lodge. Whereas the Masons favored white and marble buildings, however, the Four Orders relied more upon bronze, gold, and black, giving it a grand, baroque, and altogether sinister appearance. It was said that there was a friendly rivalry that existed between the two societies, but truthfully, they had little to do with each other. The Masons did not see themselves as a magical society, anymore than the Four Orders saw themselves as a fraternity.

"Where was the body found?" Holmes asked, as they were led into the building.

"In the main Chamber of Ceremony, at the heart of the Temple," Clark explained. "It is supposed to be closed off to anyone who has not been consecrated for entrance, but considering the fact that there's a body in the middle of it…"

"The Four Orders has made an exception," Watson concluded.

"Their reasoning was that since a crime was committed, the Chamber has been defiled, and we may as well conduct our investigation until it can be reconsecrated," Clark explained. As they were speaking, Inspector Lestrade greeted them, looking very old.

"Ah, Lestrade," Holmes announced, as the rodent-like man approached them. "It's good to see that you are helming this case. Is there any chance that clues will still be on the scene, or will I have to guess as to what was where before your officers came upon the body?"

"Mr. Holmes, I have to insist you do your utmost in solving this case," Lestrade said tightly, ignoring the jab.

Holmes seemed confused, and said, "Is it now Scotland Yard's policy to openly admit that they are helpless without my interventions? It is most appreciated coming from you, but unexpected."

Lestrade's face went dark, and he flicked his coats seam. On his chest was a curious pin, and Shinji realized that Lestrade was a member of the Four Orders. "Sir Rotheram was my sponsor, when I was younger," he said. "I looked up to him." He closed his coat, and turned to leave. "I've already seen the crime scene. I'm not going back in that room. The investigation is yours."

Holmes watched the departing Inspector, and Shinji noted that there was no quip or sarcastic remark to see him off. This was a side of the police man, apparently, that Holmes had not seen before. Turning, he paced down the hall, followed by his three companions.

They came upon the grand entrance to the Chamber, where four policemen were waiting patiently. They admitted Holmes and Watson, but quibbled at the presence of Misato and Shinji. "I'm sorry," one of them said, "There's an ugly mess in there. Can't allow a child, or a lady." Misato gave the officer who spoke a dangerous glare.

"I have seen worse than any of you boys, now stand aside," she hissed, and moved to enter. One of them put up an arm to bar her way, which proved to be a dreadful mistake. Lightly grabbing his hand, she twisted it. There was a cracking sound, and the man was driven to his knees. "How dare you take liberties with me!" she snapped. The other three officers backed up, surprised by the sudden movement.

"I don't believe he was trying to take liberties with you, Misato," Shinji murmured.

"That's not how I saw it," she said coldly, and the man yammered. Shinji sighed, realizing Misato was just looking for a reason to pick a fight. She had been irritated by their fairly innocent concern, and felt the need to put the fear of God in them. Clark, fortunately, was rushing up to defuse the situation.

"Boys, this is Miss Katsuragi, who has worked on cases worse than this one. The boy is Shinji Ikari, an apprentice to Mr. Holmes. They can pass." The three standing officers glanced at each other, and shuffled aside. Misato gave a demure smile, and walked in, taking her victim's hand with her a few inches before releasing it. Shinji gave a look of silent thanks to Clark, and followed her in.

"Was that necessary?" he scolded.

"Of course not, but it felt good," Misato said devilishly. Her smile vanished as soon as they passed the threshold, and beheld the mortal remains of Sir Rotheram.

* * *

Death had not come quickly or kindly to the Lord Chief Justice. His nude body was splayed on the center of the grand chamber, before the Altar, the benches where the Order would assemble, and underneath the grand mosaic in the ceiling detailing the Order's holiest totems. He was displayed in a manner similar to the Vitruvian Man, in the center of a ceremonial circle drawn with white wax. It was very clear against the black floor, and seemed to glow.

As Shinji approached the body, he saw to his shock that the flesh and muscles of the back and the arms had been dissected and stretched to form macabre wings about the shoulders. The eyes were gone, there were several deep incisions over the torso, and various patterns of cuts and slashes over the legs. There was no blood, however, or even the smell of blood. In fact, the body itself looked very gray, almost like stone. There was something familiar about the whole thing, but Shinji wasn't sure what it was.

"I haven't seen anything like this since the Ripper," Watson muttered, leaning low over the head with a ruler.

"Time of death?"

"I can't determine," Watson admitted. That earned a raised eyebrow from Holmes. Watson was an accomplished physician, and it was rare he encountered a medical problem outside of his experience. He dabbed a handkerchief at one of the wounds, inspected it, and shook his head. "I can tell you this man is completely devoid of blood."

"Bled out?" Holmes asks.

"No, as in, there is no blood in his body at all," Watson said, holding up the kerchief. The white cloth was still clean. "There's not even a residue." Holmes pursed his lips.

"Didn't you say that he had a ring on his index finger? On the right hand?" Misato asked, standing behind Shinji.

"The Ox Ring, yes. It's gone. I noticed when we came in," Holmes said, rubbing his eyes. He stood up, glancing at the door. Clark was standing at the threshold, giving Holmes the maximum amount of space to work. "When was the last time anyone saw Sir Rotheram alive?"

"Eleven o'clock last night. He was the last one in his offices; one of the clerks wished him a pleasant evening, and that was it." The detective looked down at the body, then back at Clark.

"And when was the body found?"

"Nine thirty this morning, when they opened the Chamber for the morning rituals," he explained.

"Eleven and a half hours. Assuming the body was displayed here…an hour for setup at the most," he pondered. "That's not enough time."

"Not enough time for what?" Misato asked.

"For the murderer to kill him, drain him, then move him here," Watson explained. He was following Holmes' trail of logic. Shinji sat down on the floor, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. The key was in the positioning, and that was up to him, whether his companions knew it or not. The position of the body held a significant clue, and that lay in the realm of his father's work. Specifically, his father's books.

This was familiar to Shinji. He had seen this ritual before. In his mind palace, he rushed to the library, allowing his instincts to guide him to the one book. The smell of the book was what connected him to it the most immediately. Cinnamon. It was strange that a book should smell like cinnamon, he thought, and that memory had stayed with him the most. Cinnamon and ritual. Rituals of violence. Old violence. Pagan, heathen violence.

"Religion," he said out loud, and four sets of eyes turned to him. "This is a religious act. A specific religious act."

There was a silence as Shinji stood, circling the body. "Two rituals come to mind, and the choice of either will narrow down the motive. The first is the Blood Hawk, which was practiced among Saxon pagans in central England. The sacrifice would have his skin pulled back like thus, to create the illusion of wings. The second was a similar ritual practiced by certain groups of pagan Prussians before the Teutonic Knights hunted them to extinction. It was called the Flaying God and Skinned Jar, depending on the historical source. The ritual was similar except in the case of the heart. The heart would be removed to create a receptacle or a space for the invitation of a spirit. An indwelling. Specifically, an indwelling for a spirit of a…malevolent nature. It was not a practice that was widespread, or associated with groups of a good disposition."

"I should warrant not," Watson mumbled. "You said it could be one or the other?"

"Well…" Shinji scratched his head. "If it was the Saxon ritual, the point would be like a…clearing of the way. An attempt to undo something, or appease something. Set back the clock, as it were. The Prussian one could be to create a space for a spirit, but it was also connected with stealing someone's power, like a shaman or wise man." Shinji leaned over the head, studying the missing eyes. "I would say it was the latter, considering the eyes are gone, as well. It's like Blackwood was trying to steal the essence or power of Sir Rotheram. He was, after all, the premiere 'wizard' of the Four Orders."

Misato quickly circled to the left side of the body, removing her gloves. "Dr. Watson, allow me to assist you," she said. It took Watson a moment to realize what she was implying, and he quickly joined her. "Constable Clark, could you fetch a basin with some water and soap?" Shinji asked, and the constable disappeared.

"That incision is the most likely place," Watson said, noting a long gash on the stomach, under the ribs. Misato inserted her fingers, and gently separated the wound. Watson worked his sleeve up, inserting his hand under the ribs, and nodded. "Yes," he confirmed. "The heart cavity is empty. It seems you're theory is right." He removed his hand, and observed it. "Now that is very strange. There's not even a drop of blood internally. I can understand a lack of blood on the exterior of the wounds, but internally…that's too thorough."

Clark had returned with the basin, and Watson and Misato went to wash their hands. Shinji and Holmes crouched together, staring at the conundrum. "Blackwood couldn't have done all this in one night," Holmes said.

"He would have had to do it here, as well," Shinji mused. Holmes looked at him quizzically, and the boy stood, approaching the Altar. "I think we can agree this ritual was to steal power, correct? If so, simply cutting the poor fellow up wouldn't be sufficient. It's not just the act, it's the time, the place…especially the place." He circled the Altar, getting a better look at the room. "He couldn't just kill Sir Rotheram, he would have to do it where his…energies would be the strongest. Look at this from Blackwood's perspective. If he genuinely believes that he can make himself stronger by doing this, he would do it according to certain rules."

Holmes nodded, following the line of reasoning. "Those rules would define optimal conditions for an optimal result, like a well-planned experiment or a perfectly executed crime. Thus, he would have had to try to perform the 'ritual' here, in this Chamber."

"In less than twelve hours, undiscovered, with not a trace of blood anywhere in this room," Shinji concluded. Holmes gave a sudden, wicked smile.

"Most puzzling," he said, suddenly delighted. Shinji smirked, and turned towards the walls. He figured there had to be a secret way in and out of the room, but the walls looked very solid. According to what he knew of Four Orders doctrine, the presence of a secret compartment or entrance would actually fly in the face of the basis for constructing the Chamber. So how did Blackwood enter the room?

That became his focus as Watson, Misato, and Holmes discussed the body. He circled the room three times, investigating every crack and seam, and he only reinforced his earlier conclusion. No secrets. Apparently, Blackwood could pass through walls as well as rise from the dead. It only seems right, Shinji thought in irritation. If death can't hold the man down, why not matter as well?

It was around the early afternoon when Clark returned. "Inspector Lestrade has requested the presence of Mr. Ikari and Miss Katsuragi," he announced. The Inspector was making good on his promise to avoid the room.

"Go ahead," Holmes said. "It seems that this well is already running dry. We'll inspect the premises in further detail, and share our findings with you. I imagine my brother has other tasks for you."

"Your brother?" Shinji asked.

"But of course," Holmes said. "Why else would Lestrade request your presence and not the four of us?" He waved the boy towards the door. "It's time you met the other half of the family anyway…unfortunately. You have a ways to go, but you've already advanced well enough in your studies to start dealing with him."

Misato and Shinji left the chamber, heading back to the main hall where Lestrade was waiting. "What is Mycroft like?" Shinji asked. He had actually heard very little about the older sibling, as his habits and presence tended to be a well guarded secret in the British government.

"I can explain, but it's better for you to meet him," she said. "I can say this. He is infinitely more polite and personable than Holmes…and infinitely less tolerable as well." There was something in her tone that made him feel uneasy.

"That's not comforting," Shinji muttered, as the two walked up to the Inspector.

"I've just received word that I am to escort you to the British Museum," Lestrade said, still glum. "I am also to give this envelope to you," he said to Misato, handing her a small piece of paper. She opened it, and made a noise of discomfort.

"That seems rather sudden," she sighed, and handed the note to Shinji. In confusion, he read it:

BRING THE THIRD

INTRODUCE THE FIRST

He turned the card over, noting what appeared to be half of a fig leaf monogrammed on the back. There was nothing else, save for that cryptic symbol. "What is this business about the Third and the First?"

Misato sighed, her expression suddenly weary. It seemed that message had evoked some sort of dread she was trying to hide. "You'll see. I have to ask first, though: how willing are you to find the answers to the questions you have?"

Without any hesitation, Shinji said, "Completely devoted." Misato nodded.

"I hope, I truly hope," she said, "That you do not live to regret that stance."


	4. In Heaven and On Earth

The British Museum was a grand building, a true palace of science and culture. To some, it represented the pinnacle of British knowledge collected into one source. To others, it was a shrine to English arrogance and the collected treasures of dozens of subjected cultures.

To Shinji, it was just big.

The eager side of his analytical mind warred with his dual desires to see the great body of work contained within the Museum, as well as to unveil the secrets in the Secret Annexe that he was being escorted to. The British government had obtained the use of that wing for purposes of a clandestine nature, and for those who knew about it, there had been a great body of rumor that had grown concerning what went on in that secluded area. Shinji was not so optimistic as to think there would answers there, but he felt that whatever he found would guide to the right questions to ask. As he entered the lobby of the Museum, his mind raced with the possibilities as Misato led him towards…what? What exactly would he find? He studied her back as he followed, detecting hidden tension and nervousness.

He felt a sudden wave of concern. Why should she be so nervous about this meeting? He pondered that thought as they entered a door to the Museum's offices, followed a hallway back to a nondescript door watched by a portly museum guard. He let them pass, into what was revealed to be a guard room. In contrast to the unassuming guard on the outside, the three men here were clearly armed, dressed in black uniforms, and carried the air of military professionals. Misato produced a silver watch from her purse, and they scanned it. They compared that to a special book, which seemed to have photographs in it. That's how it appeared from Shinji's angle; he reasoned that there must be an identification tag on the watch, which was paired to a photo or sketch of Misato. It was clear they knew who she was, but they checked her identification anyway. Good security, he pondered.

Satisfied, the guards opened the door, and allowed them entrance. As they passed through, a younger boy and a tall man dressed as a butler were approaching from the other side, intending to exit. The boy stopped and regarded Misato. "Miss Katsuragi," he said politely, if disdainfully.

Shinji observed the child. He was young, and strangely beautiful. Admittedly, he looked almost like a girl. He had a velvet patch over his left eye, and was dressed in clothes that were very fine and very expensive. His escort was tall, had painfully handsome features, and a bemused look on his face. Shinji immediately found his attention drawn to the man. Something about him was…wrong. Off the mark. It was as if the air around him was corrupt, and the closer he stood, the more Shinji felt his limbs ache.

It was like looking into a dark cave, and feeling like something inside was looking back.

"Lord Phantomhive," Misato said, a slight effort under her courteous tone. Shinji glanced at the boy. Phantomhive? What a strange name. It didn't even sound real. And a member of the peerage, as well. He had not heard of the Phantomhive family, and that told him much.

"I see you have brought a guest into the Wing," the boy noted, diffident in his tone. It was a strange experience, being appraised by this Phantomhive child. If Shinji had to guess, he wasn't much older than this boy. Judging by his height, the pitch of his voice, his appearance…thirteen at the most. The lordling behaved as if he was much older, however.

"More than a guest," Misato said, but declined to elaborate. Shinji glanced between the two of them, and coughed.

"Shinji Ikari, how do you do?" he said, bowing politely.

"The son of the late Gendo Ikari?" Lord Phantomhive asked.

"That's the rumor," Shinji said, glancing at the butler. He had a cold grin on his face, almost playful. Shinji decided that he really did not like that man.

The young lord gave the barest shadow of a smile. "You seem to have a most cavalier attitude about yourself. I hope it proves to be more than just words. I take it you intend to take up your father's mantle and continue his work?"

"I am merely trying to determine why he was killed," Shinji said diplomatically.

"He was killed because of who he was and what he did. There. You have the solution. What more do you require?" the boy asked, challenging. Shinji kept his expression, analyzing this Phantomhive.

"If you are concerned about the threat I could pose against your good graces with the Crown, especially in regards to your activities in serving Her Majesty, I can assure you I am completely disinterested. Whatever rivalry you and the elder Holmes have is none of my affair."

Misato turned to look at Shinji in surprise. The boy's eye narrowed, and he looked at Misato. The butler gave a toothy grin. It seemed to Shinji that there was too much ivory in that smile.

"I take it from your barely controlled reaction," Lord Phantomhive said to Misato, "That you are as surprised by that statement as myself." He turned to Shinji. "You seemed to deduce that on remarkably few clues."

"Thank you for confirming my theory," Shinji said. The boy's color paled, and his lips tightened.

"You are talented, it seems. I shall remember you, Shinji Ikari. I would advise you to remember me. Come, Sebastian," he snapped, and made his exit, the maniacally serene butler in tow.

Watching them depart, Misato whispered, "Do you have any idea who that is?"

"No, but I have a name and a disposition. Could you fill me in on the details?"

Misato took his elbow, guiding him into the Annexe. "That was Lord Ciel Phantomhive. Don't be fooled by his age; he has been personally called upon by the Queen for several cases of a most obscure nature. His butler, Sebastian Michaelis, is also reputed to be a man of a fearsome and deadly disposition."

"That would make sense,"Shinji mused.

"How did you deduce what he did?" Misato asked.

As they entered the Annexe, Shinji had to stop, looking at the exhibits displayed within. It was still very much a museum wing, but the items here were…bizarre. They strained the bounds of logic, such as the massive human skull that was four feet tall. Something told Shinji that it was not a sculpture or work of art. He glanced over the other exhibits, answering Misato's question.

"Considering his access to the wing, I deduced that he is privy to secrets in the British government. Considering as well his sour disposition, and the manner in which he was leaving, it can be concluded that he was here on business of a stressful nature. The most likely theory was that he does not serve Mycroft Holmes, but is familiar with him. Familiarity of that sort denotes contempt, possibly rivalry. Rivalry was the most likely relationship, and if there is a rivalry, the two individuals are in similar lines of work. The handling of sensitive affairs." He turned, and smiled. "I made an educated guess, and he confirmed it."

"So you didn't know until he admitted to your accuracy? I bet that the young Lord did not like being played that way," she said, smiling. Shinji was leaning over a 1:200 scale model of the fabled Nautilus, the submarine of the Scientific Pirate known only as Nemo.

"How did they get the design for this?" he asked, pointing at the model.

"Very carefully," a voice said, and he turned to see a tall, rotund man that would have been the image of a well-fed, well-groomed Sherlock Holmes.

"Ah. Mycroft Holmes, we finally meet," Shinji said, bowing. Mycroft extended a hand, and Shinji accepted it.

"Indeed, young Shinji. Mycroft, if you please." His grip was firm, but the hands were soft. Shinji very much doubted Mycroft had done a day of labor in his life. "Dr. Fuyutsuki has kept me appraised of your progress. I have followed it with some interest, I admit, but I fear I must cut your lessons short. The reappearance of Blackwood, combined with the murder of Sir Rotheram has, I feared…forced our hand a bit."

He turned to Misato. "Ah, Misato! I take it you ran into that nasty little speck on the way out?"

"We encountered Lord Phantomhive, yes," she said, exasperated.

Mycroft threw his hands in the air. "Phantomhive! Can you think of a more ridiculous name? How they're on the peerage, I can never guess. Then again, so is Blackwood, or was until he was kicked out of the House of Lords. I warrant it is simply a sign of the times, what with insane aristocracy and black magic and all that. Magic! In this day and age! I thought this was supposed to be the Age of Science." He shook his head.

"And that butler," he continued. "Positively demonic fellow. Something about him is not quite right. Every time I look at him, I feel someone dancing over my grave. But no matter. So, young Shinji! I take it you have some questions."

The elder Holmes had turned and begun walking into the Annexe, and Shinji and Misato had to quicken their pace to catch up. He wasn't a fast walker, but he had an erratic sense of direction that made following him a chore. "I do, but from what my experience has been here in London, I doubt that you have the answers."

"I might surprise you, boy, though I admit my answers will probably only lead to more questions." He smiled leading them past more and more curious exhibits that stoked Shinji's interest. "That's the nature of the intelligence business, you know. Answer one question, earn five more. If we didn't have questions, I fear we would be quite out of a job."

"Who is 'we?'" Shinji asked. "A specific organization, or the general field of intelligence?" Mycroft smiled, and turned a corner. As they did, Shinji was confronted with a set of double doors flanked by two more uniformed men, with a curious symbol carved into the stonework above them.

It was the half-fig leaf he had seen before, but beneath it was an English phrase, semi-circled around the leaf. God Is In His Heaven, All Is Right With This World.

"Shinji," he asked, "how is your Latin?"

"Passable."

"How does the phrase 'NOVUM EVANGELION, ENIM REQUIEM IN VICTORIA' translate in your mind?"

He consulted the his palace's room for linguistics, piecing out the phrase. "The New Evangelion, for Rest in Victory." Mycroft nodded.

"Not bad. We call ourselves NERV for short," he said, pushing through the double doors. "Tell me, what does the word 'Evangelion' mean to you?"

"The Evangelion is the collection of Gospel works in the Bible, from which the term 'evangelical' is derived. I understand that 'evangelium' is the more common term," Shinji noted, "And yet, strange to be connected to a government agency. I understand the place of Christian symbolism in European government, but why that particular term? It is not widely used." He followed the portly man through the doors, finding that the other side held a mess of activity.

The doors led to the top of a staircase, which gave them a view of a large room. On the floor was a vast map of Europe, and on the wall, the NERV logo stood, imposing and insistent. Men in those ever-present black uniforms moved around the map, the buzz of activity filling the air.

"A map room," Shinji noted, "That's not sinister."

"Are you going to be peevish, or will you allow me answer your question?" Mycroft said testily. Misato smiled, and Shinji bit his tongue.

"You are correct, the term Evangelion does describe what you have just defined, but there is more to it than that, I fear. We wouldn't have been aware of it if not for the observations of your father," Mycroft continued, leading them down the steps. "I find it amusing that it took a non-Christian from the Orient to discover it, but sometimes I feel that his outsider perspective was what assisted him in the first place, never mind his general brilliance. You have some shoes to fill, my boy."

Shinji noted that Mycroft had already pegged him for recruitment. He declined to disabuse the elder Holmes of the notion. He had not agreed to work for any organization, secret or otherwise. He held that to himself, however, allowing Mycroft to continue talking.

"There is a body of text, religious texts I daresay, that could be considered an alternate Evangelion. These works are of great concern to us, you see." He had led them to a door with, again, two more guards, both larger and meaner looking than the previous sets. They eyed Shinji, and stepped aside, allowing the group to pass. The three entered a more quiet, more comfortable space, what felt almost like the interior of a fine set of apartments.

"Texts that talk about the reshaping of man, the dawn of a new world. Vague, biblical stuff, you know, but things that we take very seriously." Shinji eyed Mycroft, skeptical.

"I didn't think that it was the policy of British government to chase broomsticks and ghost stories."

Mycroft smiled gently, and said, "I understand that my brother and his colleague have given you the notion of a world that is very orderly and very ordinary, my dear boy, but that is precisely the point. You will find that one of the differences between Sherlock and myself is that he has a very specific realm in which he prefers to work, whereas I have no limits."

Shinji nodded. "The earth circles the sun," he said.

Mycroft smirked. "Yes, that business. You've summed it up perfectly. No, Dr. Watson is an ordinary man with an ordinary life, and for Shirley's benefit, I intend to keep it that way. As for my dear brother, I suspect he knows there's more beneath the surface, but he won't follow it. Not for any fear of the supernatural, mind you, but because he is completely disinterested in it. Would rather follow fraud and murder than ghosts and goblins."

Shinji glanced at Misato, then back at Mycroft. "Supernatural?" He squinted. A dangerous line of logic appeared in his mind. The ritual nature of Sir Rotheram's murder, combined with the clues that failed to add up. The strange rise from the grave. He frowned. When in absence of a logical conclusion, the most illogical one was sometimes the best and only answer.

"And your earlier lamentation," Shinji asked, "Concerning the Age of Science?"

"Very sincere, I'm afraid. I lament the continued acts of black magic today, not necessarily because I doubt them," Mycroft said, "But because I feel humanity had come to a point where we should put that sort of thinking behind us."

Shinji frowned. "I don't like where this conversation is leading," he murmured, "I prefer to work with concrete facts and proof. The realm of the supernatural is…theory and guesswork."

"Is that not what deduction is?" Mycroft asked.

"Based upon solid minutiae and criteria," Shinji retorted. "You're describing a world that I would be out of my depth in."

"Who was it," Mycroft asked Misato, suddenly ignoring the boy, "that determined the motive in Sir Rotheram's murder today?" Misato's face was serious, and she didn't answer.

Shinji looked at her, then back at Mycroft. He suddenly realized that Misato had already known that there was a ritual element to the death. He knew that she was holding information close to the chest, but that implied she had kept far deeper secrets then she implied. "Well," he said quietly, feeling slightly betrayed, "That is a side of you I never thought I would see."

Misato looked down, refusing to meet his gaze. Mycroft suddenly looked bored. "Oh, don't blame poor Misato. She was acting on instructions. If it makes you feel better, direct your frustrations at me."

"I doubt you would feel guilt over them," Shinji said with a little more heat than he intended.

"You're right, of course, but the offer still stands," Mycroft said, continuing down the hall. "Now, this Evangelion your father discovered," he continued, with Shinji following at a wary pace, "was pieced together from several different and almost unrelated texts and traditions. Rosicrucian-ism, Gnosticism, beliefs from the Cathars. It didn't stop there, you know. Druze writings, Isamili texts from Alamut, the whole depth of Western religious and philosophical tradition, from Jew to Gentile and Christian to Mohammaden. He saw certain threads amongst them all, and he was able to follow them and appraise us of the growing danger."

"A vague danger," Shinji muttered. "As specific as Nostradamus, I take it."

"A specific one," Mycroft insisted, ignoring the jab, "Based upon the Second Fall of Man."

"The Second Fall?" Shinji asked, concerned. Mycroft opened a door, and led them into an armored room. Arranged about the walls were stone slabs, covered in cuneiform script.

"As detailed here," Mycroft said. "The Rosetta Stone by which your father worked." Shinji felt a strange fear looking at the slabs. There were eight of them, seemingly uniform, but his eyes caught subtle differences in the pattern and spacing of the script.

"What language is this?" he asked.

"Assyrian, of an unknown dialect," Mycroft explained, "Discovered, of all places, in Egypt, at the site of the old Library of Alexandria. It was the start of your father's work. It is an epic poem in eight parts, describing a version of Genesis not known to the general public. It details a three-act play, the Three Falls of Man. The first was the Garden of Eden, as I'm sure you know. The second is more interesting. It's very vague, called the Ascendancy of Lilith. The Third is the most vague, best translated as the Remaking of Man. The first two are treated as sins against God, but all detail willful acts of man bringing about his own downfall."

"Odd that Assyrians would write about Semitic traditions," Shinji noted.

Mycroft agreed. "That was one of the keys that indicated we had found something unique."

"Lilith was Adam's first wife, cast out for cavorting with demons and being an unsuitable bride," Shinji pondered. He touched one of the stones. "What do you mean by the Ascendancy of Lilith?"

Mycroft smiled. "Well…if these stones are to be believed, and you are of a religious mindset, they claim that we are all the seed of Adam, not by Eve…but by the first wife. By Lilith. The tablets claim that her progeny mingled with that of the blood of Caine, and laid dominion over the Earth. Thus, because man willingly gave into the temptation laid out by an individual cast out by God, it is called the Second Fall."

"And the Third Fall?"

"Well, not exactly anything described by St. John, but essentially…when God decides to correct the mistake." Shinji looked at Mycroft, his eyes narrowing. Misato continued to remain quiet.

"The Evangelion…the second Evangelion…blueprints…" he mumbled. He closed his eyes. "What my father discovered is that there are instructions on how to bring about the Third Fall. You're organization is arrayed to prevent it."

"Very good, Shinji," Mycroft said in wry amusement. "My brother was correct, you are as intelligent as believed." More threads came together, and Shinji saw the pattern emerge.

"Did Sherlock Holmes know that it was not his purpose to teach me, but to test me?" Shinji asked.

"Probably, but he wasn't going to assume. I know how to phrase something to give him just enough doubt. I think he rather enjoyed having an apprentice," Mycroft noted. "If it's any comfort, I strongly doubt that he knew. Remember, it is accepted among the two of us that I was always the smarter brother."

Shinji felt a cool feeling in his stomach, reading lines of manipulation that he could just now perceive. He felt foolish for not seeing them before, and suddenly angry. Part of it was directed at Mycroft.

The rest was aimed at Misato. Betrayal colored her in his eyes, and he glared at her. Her expression was hurt, but she continued to remain silent. "I see now," he said, feeling the mind palace he had constructed shuddering in his brain, "Ah. The father is dead, but the son shows promise to continue his work. Invite him to London to appraise him on the investigation, then offer the boy the chance of a lifetime…to work with the Great Detective. Learn his techniques. Be invited into his confidence, grow comfortable with London, and puzzle at his father's involvement in the city. Give him just the right amount of mystery, to see how he handles it. Tests, all tests. I passed with flying colors."

"Did you?" Mycroft asked, amused.

"Of course," he snapped, "Else I wouldn't be here, now, would I?"

Mycroft blinked, genuinely confused by the boy's vehemence. "I don't know why you're so angry. We are a secret organization, you know. Can't be too clear about what we do and why." Shinji noted the obstinacy in Mycroft's tone, and realized that the man's confusion was not an act. Mycroft was genuinely confused to how Shinji could be upset. He had the ability to move and manipulate people, but lacked the concern or care as to how the felt about it. As such, he felt his frustration at Mycroft recede, though not dissipate. He might as well be angry at a snake for eating a mouse…even if he was the mouse in question.

That didn't cool his anger at Misato, and by default Dr. Fuyutsuki. "In all honesty," Mycroft continued, exiting the room, "How else would you have agreed to work with us? We couldn't just ask you. You would have said no!"

Shinji brushed past Misato, and followed the master manipulator. "Of course I would have," he hissed. "This is well outside of my element."

"But we know that it's not!" Mycroft said teasingly. "You figured out what your father was up to, and you saw the purpose of what NERV is, as well. And admit it…I think you're enjoying yourself!"

"I do not like being led around by the nose!" the boy snapped. They had stopped outside a second set of doors, much nicer than the ones to the chamber with the slabs.

"Really, Shinji, how else were we going to secure your assistance? We certainly weren't going to force you to work with us, but we couldn't take the risk you would refuse. We truly need your mind on our side."

"I can't help you," he said, shaking his head. "If I can't trust you, I can't work with you. My business in London is at a conclusion."

"I think not," Mycroft said gently. "You're curiosity won't allow you out so easily."

"You have another card to play?" Shinji dared. Mycroft smiled, opening the door and entering a comfortable room with a large table. It was well lit, with a modest fireplace, several paintings, and a score of comfortable couches and chairs. Shinji followed Mycroft, and stopped in his tracks, feeling his tongue go numb and his eyes widen.

There was girl in the room, young, with blue hair and red eyes. Her skin was porcelain white. She looked like an albino, but without the unhealthy pallor of that condition. Her expression was bland, and her posture precise. She looked like a beautiful doll.

A doll with the face of his mother.

"Shinji," Mycroft said pleasantly, "Allow me to introduce you to Miss Rei."


	5. The Girl in the Jar

Shinji stared at the girl named Rei, his mouth open and his eyes wide. He felt a tremor pass through his body, and turned his attention to Mycroft. "Don't be shy," the elder Holmes said comfortingly to the girl, "Say hello."

"I am most pleased to meet you," she said in a voice that was soft and ethereal. "Are you Shinji Ikari?" The boy closed his mouth, staring at the girl. Then at Mycroft.

And then he turned and left.

Misato followed him with her eyes, and turned to her superior. He blinked in surprise. "Well, he's all 'me, me, me,' isn't he?" Misato made a face, then hurried after the boy, leaving Mycroft and the girl alone. He sighed, and mumbled, "Has the doors thrown wide open to him and he just up and bolts. I say, young people today are most difficult to comprehend."

Rei, for her part, remained silent, staring at the open door.

* * *

Shinji had made it halfway down the Annexe when Misato had finally caught up with him. "Shinji, wait, please!"

"What was _that_?" he snapped, turning towards her with a speed that made Misato flinch. His expression was ugly, and she folded her hands as though in penance.

"We don't know. Dr. Akagi has been trying to figure out how she came to be. We've—"

"How long have you been playing this game?" he suddenly hissed, so aggravated that he was beginning to tremble. His hands were on his hips, and he was walking tight little circles on the floor. Misato sighed, and closed her eyes. She had never seen him this way before, and was uncertain of how to calm him down.

"Mycroft intended to recruit you the moment the telegram was sent."

"I figured that, but I didn't think you would manipulate my desire to unravel my father's murder as a means to an end. _Knowingly_ pretending to know less than you let on. I knew you had secrets, Misato, and I appreciated that, but I don't like being fooled away from the fact you had more to tell. Among friends, if that's what we are, I call that dishonesty."

The woman nodded, not disagreeing. "I have manipulated you. I admit that. And I am sorry. I did not want to bring you into this, and I objected the entire way. There are other considerations, though. Considerations…that required me to make hard choices."

Shinji took a deep breath, glancing about. He leaned close to her. "Is my father truly dead?"

"What?" She seemed caught off guard by the question. Shinji's expression went feral.

"Is there a reason that I am keeping watch over remains of a stranger in the place of my father?"

"Shinji, I don't understand. You…" She paused, a sudden look of shock on her face. "Are you saying that Prof. Ikari's…his remains…" She couldn't finish the sentence, but Shinji saw the comprehension.

"So you didn't know? Or is this another playact? You've proved very talented at that!"

Misato was clearly hurt by the words. "You…you stand there and accuse me of manipulating you by withholding the truth, when you did the very same thing!"

"It's not the same thing, and you know it. I never tried to ply or direct you with that secret. You made a deliberate effort to turn me, however. The line is a fine one, but the results, and therefore consequences, are leagues apart!"

She shook her head. "All right. Fine. You are in the right, and I am in the wrong. Is that what you wish to hear from me? Does that make the path between us clear?"

The boy stared at his former teacher, the woman who was to be his friend. Who claimed to be like a sister. He still felt justified in his anger, and he knew that he was. He also knew that, at this point, he was no longer punishing her for the sake of what was right. He was doing it because he had been hurt, and he had wanted to hurt Misato just as badly. He looked away, still angry, but ashamed as well.

Misato felt her own rage cool. She placed her hands on the boy's shoulders. "I have not been honest. I do not deny that. And it was wrong. I do not deny _that_. I am telling you the _fact_," she said, deliberating avoiding the vagueness inherent to the word _truth_, "That your best interests are at the center of my heart. I will do anything to prove that."

He took a deep breath. "I will not apologize for my indignation," he said, "But…I am sorry for the venom with which I expressed it."

"I deserved it," she conceded. "Thank you, though. For the apology." She placed a palm on Shinji's cheek, and he reached up to cup the hand in his own. She sighed, and said, "Fine pair we are, arguing about who withheld what from who."

"And we'll being doing more of it. That makes us hypocrites, as well," he mumbled. "Say nothing about the Professor."

"I didn't plan on it, though it…has left me feeling uneasy. We will need to discuss that later. Shall we go back and speak to Rei?" Shinji grimaced, but nodded. Misato sighed. "I knew this would be hard for you. I've been trying to figure out how to tell your mother."

"We won't," he said, "At least not yet. This is hardly information she should take in right now."

"I thought you would be opposed to hiding information like that, from _her_," Misato asked accusingly.

"Well, I'm learning from the best on that, aren't I?" he said testily.

* * *

They returned to the parlor, where the girl had remained seated and motionless the entire time. Mycroft had helped himself to two glasses of claret. "Misato, many thanks for retrieving our associate," Mycroft said. He fixed the boy with a friendly gaze, as friendly as a wolf setting sight on a lamb. "Well, Shinji…how about it? You must admit that your curiosity is peaked right about now?"

The boy approached the table, studying the girl. She looked up at him, the very image of innocence. She was truly the exact duplicate of his mother's physical appearance, save for the curious skin, hair, eyes…why the discoloration? More importantly, why did it look so natural? All of it was smooth, even…it gave her a strange sense of beauty, while heightening the surreal nature of her similarities to Dr. Ikari.

"There is a retainer?" he asked.

"A sizable one," Mycroft offered.

"My father's home. It's been closed to us for the past month. We will be allowed the use of those quarters?" Shinji pressed.

"Certainly."

Shinji crossed his arms. "And the Blackwood case…you are certain that Blackwood is responsible for my father's death? No games, no trickery?"

"As far as we can tell, Lord Blackwood was the one responsible. If you are asking to continue working the case, it is completely what I intend," Mycroft admitted. "That issue is fast moving beyond my brother's area of concern and more into mine. I need agents I can call upon to investigate it, with an open mind."

Shinji pondered it. "So I will be working for you, then? Under you and at your…" his lip curled, "…behest?" Mycroft nodded, sipping his claret.

"In that case, you over-sized, self-important, scurrying weasel, I accept."

Mycroft sputtered. "I feel," Shinji said, "In my defense, that I was allowed at least one insult for your activities. And as I used it before formally accepting your offer, I have technically not given verbal abuse to a superior." Mycroft glanced at Misato, who was hiding a grin behind her hands.

"I fear I have to concur with Shinji," Misato admitted, "As well as somewhat questionable loophole he has defined. As long as it is only the one time, I think he had the right."

"W…well, that was rather rude!" Mycroft replied, "I offer you the chance of a lifetime, and first you…storm off like a spoiled child, then you call me names. And in front of Miss Rei, here. I don't know what to make of it, I really do not. I am man of some importance, you know. Deserving of a modicum of respect."

"Respect is earned, not given," Shinji replied. "I learned that from your brother."

"Oh, hang my brother. I suspect you'll be as much trouble as him. Well, it's my fault for recruiting you in the first place!" he sniffed. He left the room, still grumbling to himself. Misato chuckled.

"That was…very risky, but amusing as well. He'll forget about it, of course. Insults mean little to a man like Mycroft Holmes. Actions, on the other hand, carry their weight, so…" She trailed off, allowing Shinji to draw his own conclusions.

He smirked, then turned his attention to Rei. He cocked his head at her.

She cocked hers in the same way, mimicking the motion. He squinted his right eye in thought, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So…" he began. "You are Rei."

"Yes," she agreed.

"You know that I am Gendo Ikari's son?"

"I assumed you were," she said. Shinji took the chair next to Rei, and continued to study her. She stared back, serene. He suddenly scooted the chair forward, and plopped his elbows on the table, his eyes boring into her with severe intentness. The girl opened her mouth slightly, and looked at Misato. It was the first reaction he had seen from her, a slight nervousness.

"Do you know who Dr. Yui Ikari is?" he asked.

"She is the widow of Prof. Gendo Ikari," the girl said.

"What else?"

She looked down at the table. "I am told that I share her physical appearance."

"By whom?"

"Dr. Ritsuko Akagi."

"You associate with her?"

"Yes." She remained motionless, but he detected a slight discomfort at the scrutiny he was giving her. Past the table, he detected tension in Misato as well. An assertive protectiveness. Of course.

"And Misato?" he asked, pointing in her direction.

"Yes."

"Tell me about yourself."

"I…do not understand the question," Rei asked, her expression suddenly confused, and her eyes flickering in Misato's direction.

Shinji stood suddenly, causing the girl to flinch. "Habits, hobbies, interests, anything and everything. Just throw some of them out there." Rei now openly looked at Misato, as if for a cue.

"It's fine, Rei," Misato said encouragingly. "Tell him what you can do."

Rei seemed to become uncomfortable. Though her posture and expression did not change, one of her hands tightened. "I…" she began, stopped. "I can…play the piano, sing in the key of mezzo-soprano. I can speak, read and write in fifteen languages. I understand geometry, trigonometry, algebra, statistical calculus…I can cook two hundred and twenty-four different recipes…"

Shinji listened and organized the various talents with half an ear, while studying the _way_ in which she listed them. What she could do was less important to him than how she expressed herself. The scattered and disorganized nature of the list told him more than the emotion that was generally lacking from the voice. There was no doubt that the girl was perfectly capable of everything she claimed she could do, but the nature in which she explained it carried that same pleading tone that had defined the entire interview, the occasional glance at Misato, the barely detected nervousness. She desired praise, but not of her ability to handle these myriad tasks. She desired recognition of how human these things made her.

This was a girl with a stamp of strangeness on her, and she was acutely aware of it. There was no doubt in Shinji's mind that it weighed heavy on her.

"…and play darts. I have just learned that talent. Miss Katsuragi taught me. She has also promised to teach me how to strangle a man with a coat, when we had the chance." She looked down, folding her hands in her lap. Her list was complete.

He continued to stare at her, and she continued to avoid his eyes. "That," he said, "Was a most impressive list. I have to say, you are a very multi-talented individual. Is that your purpose? To…be multi-talented?"

"My purpose?" she looked at him in confusion.

"Yes. Your purpose. Your reason. Why do you exist?"

The question produced a strange reaction. She opened her mouth to speak, and seemed to form words, but there was silence. Her mouth popped close, and she looked down, an expression of guilt. "I…"

"You don't like being asked a question you don't have the answer to," he said.

"I…do not like lacking the answer."

"Do you think it will displease me?" Shinji asked.

"…Yes." _That_ was interesting response. The voice had carried a sad note of resignation, and that peaked his curiosity. He looked at Misato, who was staring at him with a heated expression. She wanted the interview to end.

"Miss Rei," he said politely, "I still wish to ask you some questions, but I feel we should take a break for now."

"Is there a problem with my answers?" she asked.

Shinji was surprised by the question. "Of course not. I have learned from what you have said. I merely have more questions to ask, and would like to give you a rest from my prodding." She nodded, accepting that reason.

"Eh, Misato, can we retire to the hallway for a moment?" he asked, and turned back to Rei. "I would like to speak to Miss Katsuragi for a moment. You don't mind?"

"If you wish to discuss me further, you can do so in here. It will not bother me," Rei said.

"It would be rude," Shinji admitted, though that was not the only reason he desired a moment of privacy. Rei seemed to have been caught off-guard by that answer.

"Oh. Thank you," she said, seemingly pleased that he had taken the consideration.

* * *

In the hallway, Shinji asked in a hushed tone, "Where did she come from?"

"Six months ago, there was a raid on the estate of a physiologist named Dr. Alphonse Moreau, based on the testimony of a man named Edward Prendick. He claimed that there were…experiments being conducted, of an unsavory nature. I could go into detail, but it would strain the imagination."

Shinji stared at her. He replied, in a cool tone, "There's a copy of my mother in the back room, we're in the headquarters of an organization devoted to saving the world from a vague prophecy revealed in tablets, and I'm investigating my father's apparent demise at the hands of a resurrected black magician."

Misato opened her mouth, then closed it with a clicking noise. "This is true," she conceded. "Dr. Moreau was experimenting with the combination of creatures via vivisection, making sentient beings from animal life." Shinji sighed, covering his face with his hands.

"I said it strained—"

"No, no, I'm just remembering when life was simpler. Please, continue."

"He came to our attention specifically because of references made to Dr. Ikari," Misato explained. "When he was in the presence of Moreau, Prendick claimed the man spoke at length about your mother, his devotion and fascination with her work. Frankly, the connection was one your father found too convenient, and had NERV investigate the premises in force."

Misato crossed her arms, and closed her eyes. "I was part of that raid. The Doctor was dead by his own hand before we could detain him. We had to kill most of his creations. They had viewed him as a god at that point, and many were reverting to a feral nature as well. But…of some…" she looked towards the door. "In his lab, we found twelve canisters—"

"_Twelve_?" he gasped. "There's…" his voice had risen in volume, and he had to catch himself to bring it down to a more conversational level. "There are _twelve_ copies of my mother running around."

"No, there's one copy of your mother running around. The other eleven are still in their capsules."

Shinji let out a long hiss of air, and closed his eyes. He gathered his thoughts, scattering elements to the various rooms of his palace. "Why was she released?"

"It was an accident," Misato admitted. "Hers was the only capsule with any sort of identification on it, a bronze plaque the letters R-E-I. Because of that, it got extra attention, and was the first moved. We had an accident, the capsule shattered, and she…poured out. She went into cardiac arrest almost immediately. It was your father that saved her."

"Hmm," Shinji thought pondering the image. His father rescuing a girl in need…it was a heroic image that didn't fit the man he knew. Then again…when the girl looked like the man's _wife_…

"That still seems out of character for him," Shinji admitted, feeling guilty for saying it. "And the fact he assigned you as her bodyguard," he said, noting she did not dispute his assertion, "That places a lot of importance on the girl. Rei…"

"We don't know what it means," she confessed.

"I can think of several definitions, but none fit," he thought aloud. Misato looked at him quizzically, and he detached himself for a moment to gather together several disparate facts, and briefed the list to her.

"There was Rei, who remained loyal to King David in Adonijah's rebellion, our own cultural concept of bowing for respect, and a Zoroastrian city in Persia." Shinji paused. "Unless he meant the note of D flat and simply spelled 'ra' phonetically. I don't know the temperament of this Dr. Moreau, so I can't give an accurate deduction."

Misato shrugged, unable to give an answer one way or the other. "What about her physically?" Shinji asked.

"Dr. Akagi is unable to give more than theory. The British government wanted to dissect one of the girls, but the influence of Prof. Ikari blocked that. Frankly, I'm glad we did. It does mean we're limited in what we can tell about the girls. From observation with Rei, she seems a normal healthy teenage girl. No special physical needs, no concerns. Nothing out of place."

"I would assume that, if she is a copy of my mother…and I admit that my own knowledge of medicine is limited…this Moreau would have needed something to pattern off of her. Blood, tissue. Something like that."

"Dr. Akagi agrees. She was hoping that, with Dr. Ikari here in the city, we might be able to do a parallel physical at some point. Whenever we can share the news with your mother that…there's now more of her."

Shinji closed his eyes, tightly. Suddenly, he turned and marched back into the room, leaving Misato blinking in the hallway.

* * *

Rei had been staring at the door, and let out a small sound of surprise when it burst open. "You," he said, pointing an accusing finger at her, "Are a true mystery. I do not understand how you came to be, why you look like my mother, or how it is you came to possess such a wide breadth of knowledge. In spite of the conundrum you pose, or…most likely…_because_ of it, I have very good opinion about you. I think you and I will be good friends."

The poor girl looked a little queasy, as if uncertain as to how that would be a good thing for her. Misato entered the room, a look of bewilderment on her face. "Shinji, you're…behaving…rather manically."

"I apologize," he said, "It's been a stimulating day." He plopped down in a chair, and covered his eyes. He was, he realized, behaving in a more frantic manner. Originally, it had started as an act to induce reactions from Rei for analysis, but now the mask had taken hold.

It couldn't be helped. One ritual murder, twelve new mothers, and a secret intelligence agency fighting a prophecy of doom had all plopped into his lap in barely the space of a single day. His brain was working too hard, and he was hungry. He hadn't eaten today, either.

"Misato, is there…a kitchen, or—"

"I'll have the staff bring some sandwiches," she offered, and went to locate someone to pass the order. The room was silent for a moment, Shinji dozing in his hands and Rei staring at him in silence.

"How…" she began, and swallowed.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, lowering a hand.

"I do not know…if I should call you Mr. Ikari, or…"

"Shinji is fine. May I call you Rei?"

"Yes. That is permitted."

He continued to regard her with a cool gaze, and she ventured another question. "Did you…mean that? About being friends? I find it difficult to understand what people mean…sometimes. Especially you. You're…" she shrugged, "Erratic. Different."

Shinji was caught by the sincerity of the question. He sat up, laying his hands palm down on the table and adopting a neutral pose. "Yes. I did mean that. I enjoy the presence of interesting people, and you are by far one of the most fascinating I have met."

Rei made a soft noise of wonder, then looked down at her hands. Her cheeks had turned a rosy color, and she smiled demurely. He felt a sudden, boyish pleasure at having made a girl blush. The sudden memory that the girl in question was a physical copy of his mother had a remarkably chilling affect on the mood, and he coughed uncomfortably.

"Is something wrong, Shinji?" Rei asked, and before he could answer, he was saved by the arrival of Mycroft, who was carrying a folder.

"Ah, getting along well, are we?" he said cheerily. Misato was right; he seemed to have completely forgotten the earlier exchange. "Good, good, good. I am happy to report that the conditions you requested are now being handled. A retainer has been arranged, to be deposited to the Bank of England into an account with your name. I have arranged to allow your mother access to it. The information for it is here: all you need do is sign this copy." Shinji glanced over the details.

"Is this a first time installment?" he asked.

"That's the monthly installment," Mycroft explained.

"That's…" Shinji's eyebrow raised. "That _is_ generous." He signed the document, and handed it back to Mycroft.

"In addition, I am pulling the block on your father's house. Scotland Yard will vacate the premises, and you and your mother will be able to move in as early as tomorrow."

"She will be glad to hear that. I feel being around a more stable environment would do wonders for her. Incidentally…"

"I have already determined that St. Bartholomew's is in need of a physician. Despite a more…conservative institution, they will not turn down someone as talented as your mother."

"Especially with the backing of Mycroft Holmes," Shinji added.

"It does have it's benefits, yes." Misato entered the room at that moment, and Mycroft turned, seeming to remember something. "Oh, yes. The Second Child will be here tomorrow afternoon. I have received a telegram from Berlin that has anticipated her airship's arrival in the morning."

Shinji felt that queasy feeling again, and stared at Misato. She shrugged, evidently as lost as him. "Mycroft," Shinji asked patiently, "What are you talking about?"

"The Second Child, boy! What else? We'll soon have our triumvirate arranged and ready to start cracking!" He was very enthusiastic. Shinji, however, had the distinct feeling of running in place.

"Mycroft, forgive me, but I do not know who the Second Child is or what that means, considering you harangued me into joining this organization just today."

He blinked, and looked at Misato. She gave him a look that begged for enlightenment. Rei, for her part, was just plain confused.

"Really, no one has any idea what's going on?" he asked. "Well, we have a sister organization in the German Empire. It is a fortunate thing that threats against mankind tend to cross borders, allowing friendlier relations between organizations of our nature. Based in Berlin, there is a group chartered by the Kaiser that is headed by a talented doctor named Abraham Van Helsing. He has, in his retainer, a girl of your age who is very talented in all the arts combative. Skilled marksman, excellent fencer, and apparently something of an expert in fisticuffs as well."

"Alisha?" Misato asked. "Are you saying Alisha Zeppelin-Engels is on her way here?"

"See, you knew her," Mycroft chided. "From your business with the the Van Helsing Group over that Bavarian issue."

"And she is the Second Child…why? I don't understand this number convention," Shinji asked.

"Oh. Rei was the first one in our organization, we secured the promise of Miss Zeppelin-Engels involvement a week before you arrived, and you volunteered today. First, Second, Third, as it were." Mycroft seemed pleased as punch with that, and it took Shinji a moment to remember this was the man that had been pulling his strings like a puppet from the moment the telegram concerning his father's demise had arrived. It also occurred to him that he had probably planned the acquisition of the children's services, starting with Rei, down to the minute. He closed her eyes and fought to calm himself.

"And this Miss Zeppelin-Engels?" he asked.

"You'll like her," Mycroft promised, "Fiery spirit, great personality. I imagine you will get along. Just be prepared for a bit of…well, German sentiments." He left without another word.

"German sentiments?" Shinji asked, staring at Misato. The woman sighed.

"I am not going to say one word. You'll get to meet her and decide for yourself," she said, "Though I will warn you that, as you have ascertained, Mycroft has a bad habit of understating things." She excused herself, leaving Shinji and Rei alone.

He fixed her with a steely gaze. "How about you, Rei? Do you have anything you wish to be obscure about?'

Rei shrugged, and said, "I am sorry. At the moment, I do not."

Shinji laughed at her earnestness, and said, "Think nothing of it. I'm sure you'll figure something out."


	6. The Prussian Girl

**A note from Gob Hobblin**: Okay, I'm admit…I might have a problem. Every time I submit a chapter, I think, all right, good work for the day, let's call it quits. And then…I get that little niggling feeling the back of my head…or I read a review that pumps me up. And I think, well…okay. One more little chapter shouldn't hurt…

* * *

That afternoon, Shinji learned to appreciate Mycroft's talent for understatement with the whirlwind arrival of their guest. He had been lulled into a false sense of security in the morning when assisting his mother in moving some items from the Hotel to Bloomsbury, conveniently enough the same neighborhood where the British Museum was located. It was a modest home, but comfortable. Walking through it gave Shinji no sense of placement, or of his father. He would have save those concerns for another time, though. His morning was too busy to mope, and after lunch, he was off to NERV Headquarters, certain to take the watch that Mycroft had absentmindedly handed him the day before. It was a fine silver time piece, compact and sleek, and fitted to a silver chain. The exterior held the NERV fig leaf, the interior the motto, and the back, his personal identification code.

His arrival at the Secret Annexe gave no warning of what was to come. He found a certain amusement in presenting the watch, going through whole rigmarole of being checked in, and entering the forbidden place. He passed the exhibits, making the mental note to take some time inspect them in detail at some point. He had made it through all the necessary checkpoints, and was about to enter the parlor where met Rei when he heard it. A voice. No, no, this was something grander. The Voice. Loud, Prussian…_female_.

He opened the door in time to see a teapot sailing towards his head. Idly, he noted the fine craftsmanship of the piece of china, and felt a pang of regret concerning its impending fate. Without further thought, Misato's tutelage took hold, and his head lead the rest of his body to the left, narrowly missing a possible concussion and burns. "Tea!" the girl was bellowing. "Always with more tea!" He heard the pot shatter behind him as he regarded the parlor's sole occupant.

Shinji was not a machine, but a teenage boy entering into manhood. He noticed the attractiveness of the fair sex, could find his eyes wandering here and there. For the most part, he relied on his more logical faculties to guide him through life: polite and cordial, but detached.

Then there was Alisha Zeppelin-Engels, and all that detachment seemed so trivial.

While lost in her image, the last vestiges of his logical mind pointed out with some concern what it reflected of him that he should find the girl attractive at this particular moment. Primarily this was because she was lost in the throes of some strange fury. Her expression was confrontational, her eyes burning, and her jaw set. And everything about it was entrancing.

Her face was sharp, but not unpleasant: quite the opposite, in fact. It was all fine angles, a mathematical symmetry. Everything sat in its proper place, exquisite and fine. Her eyes were blue, a brilliant, almost violent blue. Her hair was a deep burning red, long and silky. Most of it ran loose, but she had braided two strands apart with a set of matching red bows. Her outfit was fashionable, expensive, daring. She was the most striking, most attractive girl he had ever seen. And for once, Shinji found himself at a loss for words.

She stared at him. "What? What are you looking at? Are you one of the staff?" She snapped her fingers. "Ever since I come to this country, it's tea, tea, tea! Is there no coffee anywhere? I have gone all day without it, and I am at my wit's end! I insist that you locate some this instance!"

Shinji blinked very slowly, his mind returning to him. Her English was tinged with a distinct German accent, hard and unyielding, yet her voice was positively melodious. "If it was my task to do so, I imagine coffee would be easy enough to locate," he finally answered, "Though I would be concerned about the future of any other tableware. _That_," he pointed at the shattered remains in the hallway, "Was a very expensive teapot."

"Is it the nature of all servants in this country to talk back?" she snapped churlishly.

"No, it is not. I am not a servant, however, so I have more inclination to speak my mind freely." Her eyes narrowed. She straightened, one hand going to her chin and the other to her elbow. Shinji stepped deeper into the room, and she slowly circled him. He could see now that her hair was well down to the small of her back. "You must be Ms. Alisha Zeppelin-Engels. I was informed of your impending arrival…in a manner of speaking."

"You must be the Holmes' pet Japanese," she replied, fully crossing her arms. "Shinji Ikari."

"Our reputations precede us."

"If," she sniffed, "what you have can be called a reputation." He cocked his head, not riled but curious. Was she picking a fight? For what purpose? He heard of boys doing similar things, remembered his friend Toji Suzuhara doing something similar at his first day of kendo training. Not girls, though. He made a quick list in his head of what she might be doing, taking all of a second to organize it.

On the one hand, she may very well be testing him, seeing what his qualities were. It was the sort of thing he would do, and he understood that method of thinking. On the other hand, she may have an inferiority complex. He knew that, for some, that trait tended to manifest by way of pushing one's own exploits at the expense of others, even if it meant actively demolishing someone else's ego. That seemed a likely theory, as well.

And then there was the thin possibility she was attracted to him. He coughed, and he tossed the idea to the farthest recesses of his memory palace.

"I fear you have me at a loss," he said, "For I am uncertain exactly what it is you seem have heard of me." She gave a scoff, and fixed him with a predatory smile. He waited patiently.

"A so-called practitioner of deductive reasoning. Extreme examples of logical expertise and prowess. Unparalleled observational skills and exceptional problem solving abilities," she listed.

"That would be a fair catalog of some my talents," he said.

"Parlor tricks," she hissed. She leaned against the table, daring him to deny it. He shrugged.

"And your talents? Not so much for the parlor?"

She smiled, raising her nose to the air. It was a very fine nose, and Shinji found himself focusing on it. "I have, from the University of Berlin, earned a degree in mathematics, which should indicate which of us is the true master of logic in this room." She crossed her arms, apparently just warming up. "As a marksman, I am without parallel. Whether it is a rifle or a pistol, I cannot miss my mark. In the area of weapons, I am skilled at the sword, the spear, and the knife. Perhaps you have heard of academic fencing?"

Shinji had, in fact. "Isn't that where two fellows whack away at other with sabers while two other fellows whack away at them if they try to retreat?" It was a deliberately irreverent answer, and her eyes narrowed.

"That is, as you say, the 'gist,'" she said, screwing up her face and putting worlds of contempt into the word. "There is none who can stand before me on that field. Note, if you will, that there is no blemish or scar on my features."

He had to admit, they were not scarred, and they were features worth observing. "This is true. But, correct me if I am wrong…isn't it the point of academic fencing to receive a schmiss?" He had used the German word for 'smite,' to describe the scars that German fencers displayed proudly. Her left eyelid twitched, but she continued on as if he had said nothing.

"In the realm of unarmed combat, I am highly trained, and highly feared. I am fast, strong, and deadly with my hands and my feet."

Shinji nodded. "You didn't answer my question."

"It was not worth answering," she retorted neatly.

"Does it gall you that a non-German has called you on your knowledge of _Mensur_ fencing? Or do you prefer_ akademisches Fechten_?" His face was the model of innocence. She went from leaning on the table to sitting on it, propping one of her feet in a chair. It was a curiously masculine position, yet still remarkably feminine when she did it.

"So, _this_ is the so called deductive technique. Acting like a know-it-all to irritate and bewilder." She smirked, a look of challenge.

"I could do that, yes. I could tell you your life story right now," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"And how? From files you have read? Information that is common knowledge?"

Shinji smiled, a small predatory concession of his own. "You carry your story around with you. The details in your manner, your behavior. Your very dress."

"So…you will read tea leaves and tell me my future?"

"We are in a parlor right now. Care to see my parlor tricks?" he said, a sudden edge in his voice. She cocked an eyebrow at him, and waved dismissively.

"Why not, Japanese? Show me this deductive reasoning of yours."

He closed his eyes, clearing away clutter and detritus from his palace. He slowly opened his lids, and took her entire person in. Every detail. Every element. All of it.

He noted the dual name, one a noble German family of great wealth and the other a more middle class family associated with liberal tendencies, anathema in a place like the German Empire. The attitude, mannish, yet flaunting her feminine physique. The combination of personal triumphs over perceived weakness in others, clearly an inferiority complex. Out to prove something. But to who, and what?

Pieces locked together. The theory formed. A story emerged.

"You are Prussian," he began, "Born in Berlin. Your accent places you there." She scoffed, but he pressed on. "But there's more. You were schooled there, but did not spend your childhood there. That would have been in the Bergisches Land, near the Ruhr." She froze, her expression still confrontational. She had, however, become very still.

"You have two names, one from a famed Junker family who has made their fortune in the dirigible industry, and the other, a lower-to-middle class family, one commonly associated with tendencies of a…socialist nature," he continued. "A conundrum, to see a child produced by a union of the two sides of one of the most entrenched political debates on the European continent. Now to say that you have not chosen one over the other means you are two sides yourself. Thus, one must analyze the personality." He closed his eyes.

"Confrontational. Aggressive. Self-important. You have an ego that is strong, but at the core is quite fragile. You do this all the time, naturally, but it is not for you benefit. You are doing for someone who is not here. But who would that be? We return to the dual names; in other words, the parental influence. You are caught between two parents, but you are a person of extremes. That indicates access via one parent, a sole and strong influence on your development. Your fashionable dress but masculine tendencies indicate this was the father. Which side of the family would that be, then? Seeing as to your aggression, mixed with femininity, combined with the very expense of your clothing, one can assume your father is wealthy. Which meant it was your mother who raised you in your youth, in the Bergisches Land. That would mean your mother is an Engels, and your father a Zeppelin. Or Von Zeppelin, I should say.

"You've dropped the Von, and kept the dual last name. You are therefore in conflict with a side of yourself, trying to prove you are one thing with your knowledge of the other. Thus, you are currently at odds with your father, and your mother—"

"Impressive, Japanese. Most impressive," she said. "All points. Perfectly accurate. I see that you have…talent." Shinji studied her, feeling suddenly weary, and saw the barely controlled tremors. He should have stopped sooner, he told himself. He had found a nerve, and dragged coals across it.

He sighed, and placed his hands behind his back. "A…most dangerous talent, when not properly leashed," he conceded.

"Lethal," she agreed in a quiet and far away voice.

_Well_, something inside him chuckled, _You have certainly made a first impression, haven't you_?

Through the door, Misato entered with a beautiful woman at her elbow. Her hair was a fine blond color, almost white, and her features, serious. Shinji glanced at her in curiosity. It was not often that he saw a woman dressed as a man while still so…feminine. It was clear that was not her intent, and as he turned to face them, he made a point of stepping backwards.

"Why is there a teapot smashed in the hallway?" Misato asked without preamble.

"A minor misunderstanding in appropriate afternoon beverages," Shinji said. "You're seeing the results of it being explained." He smiled without humor, and bowed to the newcomer. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Shinji Ikari."

The woman regarded him with eyes no warmer than the ice of Thule. "I am Integra Van Helsing," she said, giving a curt bow. Well, that makes sense.

"I take it you are the daughter of Abraham Van Helsing, and his adjutant in running the Van Helsing Group. As well, of course, as the mentor of Miss Zeppelin-Engels, here."

"Miss Engels," the girl insisted quietly.

"Forgive me," Shinji said, studying her. "I stand corrected. Miss Engels."

The woman named Integra smiled…barely. "I see you are correct, Miss Katsuragi," she said, "He does indeed have a sharp mind. I feel that our little Alisha will be in good hands."

"I know that our Shinji will be, as well," Misato said. "I recall seeing Alisha's talents at your facility in Brandenburg." That seemed to earn a smile, and the girl stood and turned, throwing her shoulders back.

"It is good to see you again as well, Miss Katsuragi," she said. "I recall the lessons you gave when you visited."

Shinji felt that devil on his shoulder poke him, remembering something that Mycroft had said. "Brandenburg is a long way from Bavaria," he said innocently. Alisha looked at him in confusion, and Misato and Integra fixed him with ugly expressions. For his part, he took a vacant expression, rescued by the entrance of Mycroft, with Rei in tow.

"Everybody here?" Mycroft began, "Good, most good. Miss Van Helsing, thank you so much for coming and entrusting us with dear Alisha. We will be sure to put her to good use."

"As intended, Mr. Holmes," Integra replied. "She has been well-trained. She will serve the NERV Group well."

"As to be expected. Now, to begin." Mycroft circled to the far side of the room, as Shinji, Rei, Alisha, Integra, and Misato took seats at the table. "As is known," Mycroft began, "To both of our organizations, there is, as young Shinji phrased it yesterday, a blueprint designed to bring about the end of man as we know it. Now, that's rather big problem with a lot of little problems attached to it. Some of those little problems can in turn become crises of their own.

"Case in point: Lord Blackwood."

"I am familiar with his crimes," Integra noted, "We have seen similar summoning rituals."

"Summoning what?" Shinji asked.

"Power, of course. The placement and the nature of the sacrifice, as well as the victim of choice, are meant to gather power to magician in question, to make him stronger," Integra explained.

"What about rising from the grave? Could he adequately do that through a so-called ritual?"

"None that I know of," Integra admitted.

"But one that I know of, believe it or not," Mycroft said, opening his folder. "The nature of the sacrifices, with the self-inflicted mutilation and placement of certain ritual patterns and relics, defines not summoning, but taking."

"Taking of lives. And gathering them," Shinji said, Mycroft's word's making sense a moment before he explained the rest. Everyone looked at him. "Don't mind me, I'm just thinking out loud," he said. "Mycroft was about to finish."

"As I was saying, before being interrupted, the taking of lives. In essence, each sacrifice was an extra life for Lord Blackwood, like a cat's nine lives. We know of four girls murdered, so he has at least three lives left."

Misato sat back. "That's what we know of. We don't know how many other 'lives' he has stored away."

"Perhaps the more pertinent question is what he intends to the do with them. Or with what he stole when murdering Sir Rotheram," Shinji said.

"That's where NERV has become involved," Mycroft explained. "Supernatural occurrences are unfortunately less rare than we would prefer them. However, what brings Blackwood to us, and not to someone like Lord Phantomhive, is the fact he used this 'collection' ritual at all."

"What is the source?" Integra asked. "I have never heard of a ritual like that."

"The source," Mycroft said, "Is a piece of the second Evangelion." He allowed it to sink in before continuing. "Specifically, a collection of spells and scrolls into this second Evangelion, creating what can be called a Counter Gospel or a Shadow Bible. What have you. He has a copy of this tome, and he is using it to expand his powers. The sacrifices were merely him experimenting. The death Sir Rotheram shows he is moving on to larger and more dangerous things."

Shinji felt something inside him chuckle. Here he was, discovering the concepts of magic as a plausible thing, when merely twenty-four hours ago, the concept would have been as alien to him as clouds to a fish. "Does this Shadow Bible have the ability to provide its user the ability to end the world?"

"Frankly, we don't know. We weren't aware of the presence of such books until shortly before your father's death. He discovered the concept, and something significant about. Unfortunately,y beyond knowing it exists…" Mycroft shrugged.

The boy closed his eyes, scaled back his mind, and asked. "Did Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes discover anything else pertinent about the remains of Sir Rotheram?"

"Sadly, no. A dead end, as it was." Shinji recalled using that same pun, feeling two separate tracks in his mind diverge. One track continued to ponder the problem of Blackwood, while the other considered Dr. Fuyutsuki. He had not seen the man since yesterday. He was still cross with Mycroft, less so with Misato, but had not cleared the air with Dr. Fuyutsuki, to see where he stood on manipulating Shinji. The entire thing still rankled the boy, and he intended to speak to the man at some point. He couldn't seem to find him around the Secret Annexe, but they knew how to get messages to him, he reasoned. Perhaps, he thought, he could try and convince Dr. Fuyutsuki to call upon the house, now that they were moving in. Something in a setting like that might make confronting him less…combative…

The house. At home. Blackwood's home. His estates. The tracks combined.

"What investigations have been done at the Blackwood Estate?"

There was silence. Shinji realized he had just thrown himself into the middle of an ongoing conversation. Mycroft fumbled for a moment. "Well, uh…mm, yes. It was investigated by Scotland Yard before his death, and by us when he came back. Before he was hanged, his primary residence was here in London, burned down following his hanging. Blackwood Hall is three days carriage ride from here, and has been unoccupied for years."

"How fast by dirigible?"

"A day and a half, I warrant. But I don't see where you're getting at. It's been investigated, in detail. By NERV men." Mycroft explained. Shinji leaned back.

"Was it investigated by you? Or your brother?" Mycroft squinted. Shinji nodded. "Think of it: we have no other leads. Start back at the beginning. Blackwood Hall. Go from there."

"I don't think we have time to do that," Mycroft said, but Shinji shook his head adamantly.

"We have no choice. It's not the best option; it's the only option."

"I…agree with Shinji," Rei said quietly. Chairs scraped as eyes turned to look at her. She said nothing else, but she met everyone's gaze levelly. Misato took up the call.

"He has shown a remarkable ability for charting his way through things," Misato agreed. "I would follow the lead."

Integra nodded, but Alisha said nothing. She was tracing shapes on the table with her fingertip, seemingly reluctant to give voice to an opinion so strongly sided in Shinji's favor. Mycroft shrugged. "I will charter passage on the first outbound flight tomorrow. We'll have a carriage meet and take you to the Estate. I guess that will be our plan, so I entrust it to you. Now, any questions before we adjourn?"

"Explain how we are to work together," Alisha murmured. It seemed she was wanting to ask something else, but had chosen a more diplomatic question to start with.

"Well, you each have unique talents, that, together, will make you quite a unit in combating the worst that humanity can face. Shinji is a logical genius much better suited for fieldwork than myself and more mentally conditioned to deal with the sort of things NERV faces than my brother. Alisha, you have a remarkable talent for fighting which will serve your fellow children well, in defending them against whatever dangers you encounter."

"And her?" Alisha asked, pointing at Rei. "What is her talent?" So that's where Alisha was headed. Shinji perked up, admittedly curious. Aside from a wide range of talents, he had yet to deduce why Rei had been included. It was possible Mycroft intended her to be a walking encyclopedia, but that didn't seem the reason.

"Rei, have you not told them what you can do?" Mycroft asked. Rei seemed to shrink in her chair.

"No…" she said quietly.

"Told us what?" Shinji asked, glancing across the room at Misato. The woman looked confused, and shrugged.

"I…have not kept anything from you," she said, which was not, Shinji noted, the answer to the question he asked.

"Rei," Mycroft said disapprovingly, as if to a child. "It is nothing to be ashamed of. Dr. Akagi has told me, and I think you should share it." He placed a fountain pen on the table in front of him.

"Told you what?" Misato asked, suddenly concerned. Shinji wasn't listening. He was staring at Rei.

Meekly, the girl placed her hand on the table, then raised her fingers to the ceiling. The pen slid across the surface, darting under the girl's palm. Misato gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Integra stared, and Alisha's jaw dropped.

Rei wilted, suddenly shy. Shinji was shocked, and any lingering doubts he may have held concerning magic were dispelled. Yet, he felt angry again at Mycroft, for pushing the girl to do something that she was apparently ashamed of. "Rei," he said. She looked at him. "When I said find something to be obscure about, I was thinking less dramatic." The way he pitched the words, and the words themselves, earned a faint smile. Shinji smiled back, reassuringly. Rei's eyes drifted from him to Misato, who had yet to put her hand down. She did, but it was too late: Rei had seen the gesture, and withdrawn again.

"And there's more than that," Mycroft said, oblivious to the girl's discomfort. "You will be amazed at the sort of things Rei can do when she feels like it. I figure between the three of you, there won't be any foe NERV cannot break."

Shinji's gaze passed from the sullen face of Alisha to the blank one of Rei. He pursed his lips in thought. It was true, if they could find a way to balance his brains, Asuka's reputed brawn and Rei's…talent…they might prove to be quite the team.

The question was if they would find that balance in time.


	7. Plans Within Plans

"And you're unsupervised?" Dr. Ikari was wringing her hands in concern.

"You raised me to be a gentlemen, I am perfectly capable of escorting two young ladies to the country and back. Besides, we are meeting the local constabulary upon our arrival," Shinji sighed. They were in his room, packing his crate for the expected trip, and she was behaving as a mother watching her fifteen year old boy go off on his own would behave. The meeting of that morning had left him the afternoon to prepare, and he had given her the barest details of what was happening. She was nervous, concerned, and agitated. Of course, there was the whole issue of him hunting a murderer that probably affected her views on the matter as well, but that just had to be set aside for the moment.

"I don't understand it," she said, throwing up her hands. "The plans of your new employers make no sense. And really, why go out there at all? Isn't Blackwood here in London? You're putting yourself at terrible risk."

"That's the plan," he mumbled, and then regretted it. Very rarely did he let things slip, and only then, it was in the presence of his mother. She had that special power that mothers had over their sons, in which she could compel him, without any effort whatsoever, to spill secrets, feel like a toddler, or generally do foolish things. Her eyes narrowed at his confession, and he clapped his hands together, closing his eyes and gathering his thoughts. Well, nothing for it. She might as well know, since no else except him and possibly Mycroft did.

"Mother…if I let you in on my frame of thinking for just a moment, will it place you at ease?"

"No, but don't let that stop you," she said sardonically.

Shinji scoffed, and continued. "We are, for this past month, on the trail of Lord Blackwood. I am certain he has had Mr. Sherlock Holmes under observation, and knows about me. If he doesn't know what I am capable of, he knows my father. He has to assume that I am a potential threat."

"I am not feeling better," Dr. Ikari muttered.

"If," Shinji continued, "That is the case, and Mycroft did exactly as I requested without trying to be clever about it, and I imagine he did because he would have seen the crux of my plan, Lord Blackwood will know that our group will be leaving on No. 7 from the London Aeroyards at 10:00 on the morrow."

"I am _not_ feeling better," Dr. Ikari repeated with growing irritation.

"He is supposed to know," Shinji insisted, "because he knows about _me_, but not my compatriots or their talents." Dr. Ikari, in truth, knew nothing about his compatriots, either. She knew that there were two young ladies of special ability that had been pulled into whatever little group that the elder Holmes had assigned, and that Mycroft Holmes _was_ involved, but the details were still beyond her right to know. Still, something about what Shinji said made her eyebrows quirk.

"Wa…yo…" she stammered a moment, the full and horrific implications reaching her. "You're not planning on finding anything at Blackwood's Estate!" she snapped.

"Well, not entirely. If nothing happens on the trip, we could—" Shinji began saying, seeing that his mother was taking his plans with far less enthusiasm than he had anticipated.

"You're using yourself as bait!" she snapped. Shinji groaned, exasperated. There was certain reason why one should tell their mother plans that involved personal risk. The goal of course, to assure her that said plans were not so risky. There was, however, the possibility of pushing her in the complete opposite direction, such as was happening right now. With his mother, it was always a fifty-fifty chance that she could go one way or the next, and keeping the secret of Rei had disinclined him towards keeping too many other secrets.

Perhaps he should have kept this one.

"Lord Blackwood has covered his trail far too thoroughly, but we know that he is using subordinates. If we are lucky, and I insist that it is _good luck_ if this happens…he will try to attack us. Preferably kidnap us."

"What would the benefit to that be?" Dr. Ikari grated.

"Because then we would have a lead," he said, "In the form of those captured subordinates."

Dr. Ikari shook her head. "The last one of his subordinates to appear _blew himself up_!"

"Yes, that is a risk," Shinji admitted, "But unlikely. He is clever because he is curious. It's true he might decide we are too much worth the risk to investigate, but we represent an unknown quantity, and one that shows the direction of Mycroft's movements. He will wish to pick our brains for those intentions, so as to better prepare his own moves."

"That is a _stupid_ idea!" Dr. Ikari hissed, and Shinji shrugged.

"Of course it is," he conceded, "But that's the glory of it. It's so stupid that a clever person won't see the possibility of it being a trap. Lord Blackwood will expect someone connected to Holmes to do something clever. This is…more bullheaded."

"And stupid," Dr. Ikari repeated. She was starting to look agitated.

"Then enlighten me as to the plan you've been formulating, I insist!" he snapped. "I know that you have Lord Blackwood's address and itinerary already plotted in your head! Share it with the rest of us mere mortals!"

It was a cruel thing to say, and a cruel way to say it, and Shinji regretted it immediately. Dr. Ikari was only doing what any decent mother would do when faced with her son's foolhardy and possibly destructive actions, and he had responded in the harshest way he could think of. Dr. Ikari said nothing, only looking at him with hurt in her eyes, before standing up and leaving the room. He heard her door close down the hallway. Shinji sighed, and continued packing.

* * *

That evening, Shinji called upon the house at 221B Basil Street one last time. He found Sherlock Holmes in front of the fireplace, picking out a curious tune using atonal notes.

"The apprentice doth return," he murmured, not getting up or otherwise acknowledging Shinji.

"So…you weren't a tutor. Just a test," he asked, suddenly feeling bitter. There was no doubt in his mind that Holmes had perceived the nature of their relationship from the beginning. It was true, what Mycroft had said; he was smarter of the two. That did, however, lead him underestimate his brother in the worst ways.

He had intended to come and discuss the issue in more clinical terms, but his mother had declined to leave her room, and he was feeling snappish. The fact that he had yet to confront Dr. Fuyutsuki was also grating on his nerves.

"Are you saying you learned nothing from the month that Watson and I offered instruction?" Holmes pondered.

Shinji grimaced. "I'm saying I feel like a fool. For being misled."

"The only person, Shinji, who misled anyone was you. You allowed yourself to _be_ misled, by missing the details," Holmes said. The tone wasn't cruel, but the words felt as such. "The Blackwood Case seems to have been lifted from my hands and bequeathed to you," Holmes added. "For what it's worth, I think it is now in capable hands."

Shinji nodded. "There is more to this whole affair than merely Blackwood, I feel. It won't be the end of it."

"It never is, dear boy," Holmes said with a smile. "Once you've solved one issue, it comes time to solve another, thus spins the wheel of time. Always another fish to catch."

"But who's the fisherman?" Shinji asked.

"And who's the fish?" Holmes agreed, winking at the boy. "I will not lie, I regret that you will not occupy these premises again, though I hope you will call upon my residence from time to time. I do see much potential for you, and your mental abilities. I do not know where the rabbit hole you've hopped down will lead to, but I hope you come out a wiser person, if not a happier one."

The boy nodded, and took his leave of the Great Detective.

* * *

The London Aeroyard evoked the image of a train station. The field consisted of six great hangers arranged in a semi-circle around a central arrival and departure point, where dirigibles could be guided down by flags and then towed to their appropriate hangers by small steam engines. In these hangers, there were facilities to allow passengers to embark and disembark.

Shinji was the first to arrive for their flight, on board No. 7, Hanger 3, destination Bixum Air Field. He sat on his crate, awaiting the arrival of his two female companions, and feeling uneasy. His mother did not see him off, and he declined to tell her he was leaving. He was teetering between guilt and irritation when he saw a large stack of crimson packing crates trundling towards his location. Something prickled in his ear, a second sense, and he knew. He _knew_, how he knew.

Alisha circled around the precarious structure, barking orders in German, English, and what sounded like seemed to be going through her entire vocabulary to ensure the arrival of her goods. She was dressed in a brilliant and stylish red skirt, with a white shawl with a matching hat. Shinji mused that she looked like a candied apple. Then his thoughts went to how delicious candied apples were, and how the analogy might apply here. Then he shook his mind clear of such boyish inclinations, and returned himself to the problem at hand—her massive stack of luggage.

"What…what is this?" Shinji asked, shocked and wondering if he should have mentioned that there was the very strong possibility of the dirigible never reaching its destination. Then he banished _that_ thought, because it was silly, anyways. She was over-packed, period.

"Ah, good morning, Japanese," she said, mock cheer. "It is good you have arrived to help load my luggage. As a proper gentlemen _should_." He circled around the bags to see two exhausted plainclothes men who assuredly NERV agents, mopping their heads with kerchiefs.

"You do know, of course, that we are going to be gone for roughly…one day? Maybe two, not counting travel?" Shinji asked, incredulous.

"Do not assume your plans will survive contact with the enemy!" she snapped. "A soldier must be ready for all eventualities."

"This box is marked 'Shoes,'" he said, tapping a large one in the center with his finger. "Why does a soldier need so many shoes?"

"A lady must be prepared as well. Being a lady and being a soldier are very similar, you know!" she snapped.

"Hello, Shinji." He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice. It was so quiet, but it was right in his ear. He turned to see Rei, who had approached with less sound than a shadow. She was dressed in a modest black and green skirt, very conservative to Alisha's style, but flattering nonetheless. Seeing the girl here reminded him that there was a benefit to Dr. Ikari being in a bad mood; she wouldn't be here to send them off and meet her doppelganger.

"Good morning, Rei. Do you need help with your luggage?" he asked, putting Alisha's over-packing out of mind for the moment. Rei swallowed, and gently lifted a handbag that she was gripping with both hands.

"Is that it? Will…that be enough?" he asked, shocked. He knew that she essentially lived in the Secret Annexe, and was thus under supervision almost constantly. Did her handlers actually send her out on an excursion so woefully under-packed? Shinji expected Mycroft to have deduced his plan: is that why Rei had no luggage? Because Mycroft expected her back by the evening? No, that didn't make sense: he wouldn't have told her. The need for appearances was paramount right now, which meant, just as he was, Rei had to be packed and ready for a longer excursion. Which only left the obvious conclusion: no one had helped her pack, and she had no idea what she was supposed to bring. He sighed, looking back and forth between Rei and Alisha. One packed for the Nile, one packed for the park, and here he was stuck in the middle.

"Is it not right?" Rei asked, a nervous note in her voice. "Did…I do it wrong?"

Shinji smiled. Well, best keep up appearances. "I'm just worried you won't have enough for the trip. Have you ever traveled before?" She lowered her head. "No?" She gently shook her head from side to side.

"Well…that's fine. You're about Alisha's size, so I imagine you can share with her if you need to," he said in a low voice. He doubted that the need would in fact arise, but Alisha was correct. Plans sometimes had to change, and they may very well have to go to the Blackwood Estate and pretend to investigate. In that case, Rei would be out in the cold. Still…he doubted it would come to that, and the opportunity to irritate Alisha was too tempting.

"Good morning, English," Alisha said with a touch of threat. From the meeting yesterday until today, Shinji had begun to detect the barest hint aggression from Alisha towards Rei. She was starting to pull out the claws more and more, and for the life of him, Shinji couldn't understand why. There seemed to be something in the feminine psychology that began organizing members of the same sex into rivals or allies as quickly as he ticked off items he observed. The whole exercise seemed illogical, and it concerned him.

Then again, he was heading off on a wild goose chase of his own design to hunt down a maniacal serial killer who used black magic, all the while knowingly placing himself and his associates at risk as bait. At the moment, he had no high horse to stand on when judging others behavior.

This didn't change the problem he was observing in its infancy. Despite her victim's strange appearance, which even now was getting sidelong glances from people, and despite her apparent 'abilities,' Alisha had yet to move Rei from 'normal girl' to 'abnormal individual.' As such, she was starting to develop bad habits, and was becoming something of a bully towards Rei. To be fair, Alisha's aggressive nature was pushing her interactions in this case, but Shinji felt they needed to be curbed before they became something worse. Better yet, they needed to be misdirected.

"Is that all you have?" Alisha said, mock pity in her voice. "Well, I hope you make it last. It could be a long time wearing that same dress. It's a good thing it's so simple. That will allow it to survive the punishment better."

"It's not a problem," Shinji said, "I just figured we could allow her the use of your dresses if she needed a spare."

"Who are you make promises concerning a woman's clothing?" she roared, whirling on him. Shinji smiled. She took the bait, so now it was time for the hook.

"But Alisha…you are an honorable soldier of the Van Helsing Group! Surely it would not be below you to assist those in need. Like Rei here!" He set a hand on Rei's shoulder and presented her with his free hand as though she were a work of art on auction. She grimaced, looking down at her toes. Alisha looked bemused. "Alisha," Shinji crooned, "What better challenge would there be in imparting your feminine virtues and sophisticated views to this delicate flower here? Are you saying you are not up to the task?"

Alisha fixed Rei with a disdainful look, and the blue-haired girl cringed. "Hmm," she thought, "We shall see." Alisha turned and stalked towards the dirigible, her mountain of luggage following.

"What just happened?" Rei asked.

"A little reverse psychology. I threw down a gauntlet, and she is compelled to accept it. Rather than trying to cut you into ribbons, she will spend her energies trying to 'fix you.'"

"Does that mean I'm broken?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course not," Shinj said, offering his arm. Automatically, she accepted it, and found herself smiling. "That's the beauty of the plan. She doesn't realize it, however. She'll spend all this energy correcting something that is fine to begin with, and when she's 'finished, she'll be patting herself on the back and you two might actually be friends at the end of it."

"That's clever," she said.

"Well, I am a genius," he admitted.

"Don't be too proud of that," she said quietly, her tone somber. "Remember what they said about the fox that admired his reflection too closely."

"What did they say?" he asked.

"He never saw the hunter coming."


	8. To Travel In Style

**Notes from GobHobblin**: In hindsight (and because it was pointed out, because I don't think I would have noticed it myself otherwise), I cannot remember if I did Basil Street intentionally (a nod to Basil Rathbone), or if I was thinking of Basil Rathbone unconsciously and wrote _his_ name instead of Baker Street. I am, however, going to _say_ that it was intentional, because that sounds clever, and not like I was having a word-salad moment. Because, naturally, I _never_ have word-salad moments. _Ever_…

In all seriousness, though, looking back at it, I kind of like it that way in a fridge moment. Just wanted to clear that up.

* * *

Ten minutes into the flight, Rei became seriously ill. It seemed that air travel did not agree with her, and as a result, she had locked herself in the cabin she shared with Alisha. This, of course, unintentionally deprived Alisha of access to her own compartments, which left _her_ in somewhat of a foul mood. Certainly, more foul than when she had first boarded.

Thus, it was with an understandable trepidation when Shinji heard a knock on his own cabin door. There was no doubt on his mind that she was going to unleash a rain of withering verbal abuse on him when that door swung open. He answered the knock, the vague thought at the back of his head reminding him that he could have just kept his silence and pretended he wasn't there. When the door was fully open, he decided that if he stood still enough, she might not notice him there to begin with, and just leave.

There was no such luck, of course. Alisha stood in the passage with her arms crossed, a serious expression on her face. "English has locked the door," she muttered, "And I cannot get in. I may have…persuaded her to keep the door locked. Unintentionally."

Shinji swallowed, and leaned past the threshold into the corridor, glancing to the left towards the girls' cabin. The passage itself was a model of efficiency and metal, not the same warmth and wood of the cabin. He imagined that it was adding to Alisha's generally foul mood. "I'm guessing," he said, "That you threatened her with physical harm unless she opened the door." Her nose scrunched in irritation, and he nodded. "Well, that does tend to discourage one from actually…opening the door."

"This passage stinks of oil and grease!" she snapped, and Shinji took the hint. He stepped back, waving her in. She brushed past him, with a whiff of strawberries lingering in her wake. He felt a surprising rise in his pulse, and sat down without closing the door. As he had invited a young lady into his cabin, he did not want to give the appearance of doing anything untoward. Considering how his stomach fluttered, it seemed wise to offer _himself_ a reminder of that as well.

She positioned herself next to the window, her arms still crossed as she leaned forward to gaze out onto the countryside below. It was a clear day, a fine day for flying and for seeing the world outside. "It is not," he ventured, "My homeland, but I have to say that England is certainly a pleasant enough country to look at. Provided one gets clear of London, of course."

"It is a filthy city," Alisha murmured. "I care not for London. How such a city can be the center of so great an empire, I will never know."

"And Berlin is so clean?" he asked. She gave him a withering eye.

"What do you _deduce_?" she asked, her tone syrupy sweet.

"You don't want to know," he said, "Frankly, I think my deductions are the last thing you care to hear about." She grimaced, and turned back to the window. He scratched an ear, and said quietly, "I…am sorry for our first meeting. I fear I opened old wounds." She said nothing, her chin propped in one hand. "May I ask…" he began.

"You may not," she said peevishly. He crossed his arms, wondering as to what he should do or say next.

"I do not intend to disrespect you," Shinji finally stated, "I merely wish to know a little more about you. I am willing to answer any questions you may have about me."

"What arrogance is it to make you think I have any interest in learning about you?" she said in an icy tone.

"The simple fact that you came to my cabin when you were locked out of yours, instead of going to the lounge," he replied. Alisha glanced at him, a slight blush darkening her features. That was all the indication Shinji needed to know he was right.

"I am hungry," she announced. "I think I shall go find some refreshments." She stood, and slipped into the passage, closing the door behind her. He rolled his eyes, wondering how it was that he could be consistently right about his deductions so often, yet consistently produce such wildly erratic results.

His thoughts were interrupted by another knock.

"Is there something you forgot?" He opened the cabin door, expecting to find Alisha. Instead, he saw three men in cheap suits with mean expressions and scarred faces. Shinji looked from one to the next, pondering this development.

Without a word, one of them laid a beefy hand on Shinji's chest, and gave him a nudge back into the cabin. Shinji offered no resistance, taking a seat. Two of them sat across from him, the third took a spot next to the door as he closed it. Shinji locked his fingers behind his head, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes, relaxing. All he need do now was to wait.

"So…you must be the Nip?"

"That's a vague term," Shinji said, indifferent.

"No other Celestials on this flight, right? Pretty easy to figger out," the one standing said.

"Celestials refer to the Chinese. If your going to use slurs, please use ones that are appropriate," Shinji said quietly.

That earned a chuckle, a sound of begrudging respect. "You have sand, little Nip," one of them said, "Let's see 'ow much you really 'ave. There's a friend of ours wants to talk you. Might take some of 'at boldness out, right?"

"Maybe not. I want to talk to him as well, you see. My companions?"

"We'll all 'ave a nice rest, and wait for the girl to return. Going to fetch some tea, I 'ope," one of the seated toughs muttered.

"Something like that," Shinji said with a shrug.

"And the other one, all sicky and locked in her room, right? We 'ave some friends watching the door. We'll collect her later," someone said.

"Of course. But one thing eludes me…there's a party waiting for us at Bixum. How do you account for that?"

"'Oo said we're stepping off? We'll just enjoy ourselves a nice little flight back to London, where some friends of _ours_ are waiting."

Shinji shook his head. "That doesn't fit. The party will be concerned by our lack of arrival, and someone _else_ will be waiting at that dock."

"You let us worry about that," one tough said, cheerfully.

"Of course. I see that you have complete charge of the situation," Shinji agreed. He heard the cabin door open, and smelled the strawberry perfume of Alisha.

"We should have tea in—" she began.

"Just step in 'ere, poppet," the thug by the door said. Shinji continued to keep his eyes closed, smiling. Everything had fallen into place.

"Alive, if you please," he said gently, and at his words, there was a sudden rush of noise, fury, and much swearing. As quickly as the cacophony had arrived, silence settled once more. The only sounds he heard now were a deep breathing, a muffled grunting, and sharp cursing. He opened his eyes to survey the damage.

The tough near the door had his hand pinned to the wall with a knife. A second was face first on the floor with his thumb touching the back of his head, his palm towards the ceiling. Alisha's iron grip on his wrist, and her knee was planted on his other arm for good measure. The third was staring down the barrel of a small but very imposing pistol, gripped in Alisha's free hand, his hands over a bloody nose.

"Oh, good," Shinji said, "I'm very glad all your talk wasn't just hot air."

"Hot air? Who are you to doubt…" Her expression of insult was replaced by a slow, creeping realization. "Wait. You truly had no idea I was able to fight? After everything I had said. After everything you had been told about me." Something in the way she said that implied how disturbed she was at the thought.

"I hadn't seen it before," he replied honestly. "You seemed to have had a lot of respect, but until I see something like that I can't very well _assume_ that it is a fact."

"But you _assumed_ I could handle this?"

"You did, didn't you?" he said happily, frisking the men's pockets. They all had pistols, but not the time to draw them. He tossed the weapons up onto one of the shelves.

"Are you insane?" Alisha snapped. "You mean you planned this? On the _assumption_ I could fight, but not the actual _conviction_?"

Shinji looked confused. "Are you encouraging me to doubt your individual abilities? I can do so more in the future, if that's what you wish, but—"

"Just tell me," she managed in an acidic tone, "What is planned next, you chattering, idle, _lazy_…"

"I'm going to take a look around. They said they had someone watching your cabin. Did you see anyone in the corridor?"

"Two thugs, which I intended to mention. Until _someone_ decided to try and lay hands on me." She gave a gruesome glare at the man who's hand was pinned to the wall. He flinched as if struck, and immediately stopped muttering.

Shinji leaned into the corridor, and saw the two individuals down the way. They saw him as well, and pulled their pistols. One of them began to advance down the passage. Getting into a gunfight on board a dirigible seemed an awful idea, so he turned to Alisha to ask her tactical advice on the situation. "Alisha, they have—"

A part of the bulkhead exploded around the first. The door to Alisha and Rei's cabin crushed him into unyielding steel and knocked him senseless. The second gaped, and retreated backwards and around the bend.

"Never mind," Shinji said cheerfully. "I see you have the situation handled here. If you can watch these bright boys, I'll be right back." With that, he slipped into the corridor. Alisha looped her free leg through her victim's tensed arm, and plopped on the bench, allowing her a more comfortable and better lock on her victim. She glanced at the remaining thugs.

"There are two bullets in this pistol," she said, smiling in a way that frightened them, "But I only need one to kill all three of you. If you are curious as to how this is possible, than please, make your move. I insist."

* * *

Shinji passed the hole in the bulkhead, to see Rei sitting on her bunk, her face a shade of green. "I heard fighting next door," she mumbled, as miserable as a wet cat, "and I heard someone in the corridor. I…" She swallowed. "I do not feel so good."

Shinji picked up the man's pistol and tossed it to her feet. "You're doing just fine. Almost got both of them."

"I will try to be more accurate next time," she said with a smile that veered more towards grimace.

"I have no doubt you will be," Shinji said confidentially, and slipped around the corner.

Rei leaned over on her seat, watching him depart. She looked down at the unconscious man, and finding herself with out any other conversational partners, informed him, "I think I do not like flying."

* * *

Shinji hurried up the stairwell, knowing that there would be an ambush at the top. He was not a strong fighter, but he was clever one, and a mean one, too, when called to it. Between Misato's 'education' and Toji whacking him him with a shinai, Shinji had developed a healthy respect for how easy it was to be hurt, and to hurt others. Thus, the remaining thug, confused, panicking, would probably be within his physical abilities to handle.

The question was whether he could get close enough to a man with a pistol. That was something that would have to wait, however. More important was which side of the stairwell the attack would come from; the left, or the right.

Movement appeared, and his senses screamed _right_. He threw himself to the stairs as an arm snaked around the corner and a pistol fired a shot down the stairs. Fighting the sudden slackness that had seized his limbs at the loud report of the pistol, Shinji popped up long enough to grab the hem of the man's jacket, and yank. The man went off balance and flew down the stairs, bouncing head over heels until he reached the bottom. He rolled, painfully, to a sitting position, and had just enough time to bring his vision back into focus before Shinji landed on his back with both heels. He pitched forward onto the deck, unconscious.

For his part, Shinji fell off of the now disabled man and landed hard, seat first, on the stairs. "Ah," he sighed, his feet, knees, and rear end throbbing and his head buzzing. "Five reeled in. Not bad for a fishing trip," he commented.

* * *

The aircrew of the dirigible assisted the three children in restraining the five prisoners, and (with some forceful persuasion from Alisha) turned the flight around for a return to London. In time, they arrived…again…to the Aeroyard and were signaled down to Hanger 5. Waiting for them was a group of NERV men headed by a square jawed and severely mustachioed fellow named Donovan. "We were informed by Mr. Holmes that you would be returning today with prisoners barely thirty minutes after your departure," he said, his tone not registering any sort of surprise or bewilderment. He was a man accustomed to the strange orders and twists of direction that working in NERV produced. The five bully boys were handed off to be processed and interrogated.

Alisha watched in irritation as her bags were removed and stacked. "You knew the entire time this was going to happen," she snapped. "You never even planned on going to Blackwood's estate. could have given me a little advanced warning."

"You could have packed a little less either way," he said testily.

"If we are going to continue this working relationship," she continued, "Then a level of trust must be involved. I do not see how I can trust you if you hide your plans from us."

"I cannot trust you if you continue to berate and belittle us at every turn," he replied, still irritated but his tone more gentle. They stood together and watched her mountain of baggage roll away.

"How do propose we solve this dilemma?" she grumbled.

"I'll think about it," he sighed, and turned to leave. His own crate was on a trundle cart, and he began walking it towards the Yard's main entrance. As he walked, he realized Rei was walking next to him, still a little green around the gills but clearly doing better with _terra firma _under her toes once again.

"How was your first trip outside of London?" he asked.

"Eventful," she murmured.

"I hope that it has not put you off of traveling."

"Perhaps a train would be a more pleasant experience," she offered.

"I agree-" he said, then felt the words die on his lips.

Barely twenty feet away, staring at him with worry, was Shinji's mother. There. At the Aeroyard. Probably hearing about the returning dirigible. Come to see if her son was okay, possibly waiting in the offices of the Yard for news. Because, of course, as a doting mother, she was concerned for whether or not his plan would have gone off without a hitch. The plan he had told her about without thinking of all _who_ was involved. "Oh, bother," he whispered, feeling his face numb, and turning to look at Rei. She gazed straight at the women staring back at them, curious but unaware as to the turmoil building.

Shinji glanced back to his mother, whose eyes were starting to widen, and turned back again to look at Rei who, bless her heart, was still completely innocent to the situation that was developing. "Shinji," she asked, recognizing the woman whose mouth had dropped open, "Isn't that…Dr. Ikari?" He pursed his lips, waiting for a reaction. His mother trembled, snapped her mouth shut, turned on her heel, and marched towards the exit. He swallowed on a dry throat.

"Yes. It is…was," he mumbled. Of course. You had seen every circumstance, except this one. "And this is why sons never let their mothers know what they're up to," he said to Rei, who continued to gaze after the departed doctor. She blinked, and wondered at what that could possibly mean.


	9. Questions and Answers

**Notes from GobHobblin**: One of the major problems with writing from the cuff is the failure to note little details until it's too late. For instance, considering the time period, I've failed to add an appropriate amount of 'Misters' and 'Misses' to the names, as would be considered polite among a certain class of people. I avoided it with Shinji to emphasize his maturity and general disinterest in kowtowing to people, especially in regards to Mycroft Holmes (or he's too focused at times to remember manners), but it started to irk me in this chapter. Especially when a stickler like Alisha isn't using titles. I will probably go back to make the necessary edits in time, but hopefully this will explain some of the difference in the way characters address each other from here on it (I admittedly can't even keep to this rule in this chapter as much as I try). Whatever. Progress!

* * *

Shinji decided not to go home, instead accompanying Rei back to the Secret Annexe. It was convenient that he had his luggage, for he spent the night in the parlor, sleeping on one of the couches. He knew at some point, he would have to explain Rei to his mother, and further explore why Rei existed in the first place. He had resolved to handle one thing at a time, however, and the issue of Blackwood, his father's death, all of that…it took some precedence. Of course, now that his mother had _seen_ Rei, that would be an issue as well. He slept soundly, but dreamed fitfully, continuing to try and make the pieces fit even in repose.

He was awoken the next morning to find Mycroft leaning over him, squinting in puzzlement.

"I say," he murmured, "Did you have a row with the Missus?" Shinji ran a list of three retorts through his mind, but thought the better of it and rolled over. "Oh, come now, young Shinji!" Mycroft chided. "I come in and find you asleep here in our parlor? You could have asked for one of our apartments."

"I didn't want to sleep in one of the apartments," he murmured, "I wanted to sleep out here. What time is it, anyway?"

"A little past 9 o'clock. I expect we should be seeing Miss Alisha arrive presently." Rolling off of the couch, Shinji stumbled to his trunk for a fresh shirt and vest.

"Good grief. If I knew what the presence of a young lady would have done, I would have insisted Miss Rei be the one to wake you up when she came in," Mycroft grumbled.

"What does that mean?" Shinji said, feeling his face flush as he fished through the trunk.

"She was the first one in here, believe it or not," Mycroft said, surprised Shinji didn't realize that himself. Shinji mentally kicked himself, and started sorting through his shirts. He found a decent one that was not _too_ wrinkled when Rei entered the parlor, looking prim in a dark green dress and leading a pair of kitchen staff with a tea tray and a breakfast tray. Shinji sat very still. He knew that Alisha could detect him, movement or no, but he saw no trouble in testing the theory with Rei.

"Good morning, Shinji," she said happily. Yes, she could see him. Crafty one, that.

"Good morning, Rei," he said politely. He stood slowly, folding the shirt over his arm.

"I took the liberty of having a breakfast and some tea prepared," she said, as the kitchen staff laid the trays on the table and retreated. He nodded, and glanced slowly around the room for someplace to hide behind and change shirts. She caught sight of the new one draped on his arm, and her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I've intruded when you were trying to get dressed. If you'll pardon me-"

As she stammered apologies, Alisha brushed into the room in a very expensive, stylish, red dress. Her distinct perfume flooded before her, mingling with the heavy breakfast scents of sausage and eggs, a curious melange. She looked at Rei, then Mycroft, and finally, at Shinji. She sized up the situation, clicked her tongue, and made herself comfortable in one of the chairs. "Is there any coffee?" she asked.

"I can…go check and see if the kitchen has any," Rei said, feeling the awkwardness that had settled and using the opportunity as a chance for escape. Shinji was very envious of her as she left. He looked at his shirt, then Alisha.

"Miss Alisha," he managed.

"Japanese," she said curtly. Mycroft glanced between them, missing the interlude to an extent. For being one of (if not the) smartest men in England, the interactions of young people went completely over his head.

"Perhaps you'd like to hear what we got on those bully-boys from the dirigible," Mycroft offered. Shinji glanced at him, made note of the width and girth of the man, and walked towards him.

"Yes, Mycroft. Yes, we would. While you enlighten us, would you terribly mind standing still?" he asked, slipping around him and placing the corpulent genius between him and Alisha. She rolled her eyes, and rested her chin on her hand, gazing out into the hallway.

"What? Oh, yes, of course. As I was saying, we haven't much at the moment. Not even name or identification, beyond knowing they are local. We worked them over thoroughly, but they've all been rather tight lipped, one more than most. Poor chap doesn't seem able to talk at all, right now. A physician has said it was most likely from the trauma he received in his capture," Mycroft explained.

"The one Rei crushed with a door, I warrant," Shinji suggested, switching his shirts quickly.

"Yes, actually. We still have them in the interrogation cells. Well, at least three of them. They've had a long and rather uncomfortable night, I should warrant."

"Where's the fourth?" Alisha asked.

"That would be one of the ones _you_ incapacitated, my dear," Mycroft said. "Knife in the hand, it was? Seems his wound was starting to weep a bit. We've moved him under guard to the infirmary. Can't very well have a fellow collapsing from blood poisoning in the middle of an interview, now, can we?"

"The other three are still in their cells, though?" Shinji repeated, wanting confirmation. He circled to face Mycroft, buttoning his collar.

"Yes. Here in the Annexe, in fact." Mycroft went over to Shinji's breakfast and began to help himself. "We'll be starting in on them again today. Usually it takes a few days to start getting answers. The right amount of sleep deprivation, roughing up…a good balance to soften the mind and confuse the will. If not today, then tomorrow. Their brains will be like custard, then."

Shinji buttoned his sleeves in quiet thought. He looped his suspenders back up over his shoulders, and said, "Would it be possible for me to take a crack at them?" He picked his discarded shirt up off the floor, and returned to his luggage as Mycroft pondered that. Alisha turned just enough to watch him with a sidelong gaze.

"I don't see why not. Might be a good thing to have those deductive techniques of yours put into the mix. I have to ask, however…how well do you think you might be in interrogating one of those brutes?" Mycroft cocked an eyebrow.

"Probably not as bad as you think," Alisha grumbled, clearly unhappy to admit it. Shinji retrieved a vest and matching ascot, wondering where faint but sincere praise had come from.

Rei came back through the door, carrying the coffee tray herself this time. "They just brewed it fresh, Miss Alisha," she said quietly, laying it next to the tea. She saw Mycroft still pecking at Shinji's breakfast, and gave him a reproachful look.

"Thank you, English," Alisha said, but strangely without ire, and went to pour herself a cup.

"I don't need them to talk, really," Shinji said, going to the tea instead. He found he enjoyed the English method of drinking tea, with milk and sugar. He preferred three hefty spoonfuls, himself. "If I can observe each of them, in detail, I can probably take the clues I need without actually being told anything."

"Allow me to speak to one, as well," Alisha said, sipping the coffee. "The Van Helsing Group has taught me certain persuasive techniques. I imagine I can be of some service, or in the very least make them more eager to tell the truth to your own interviewers."

Rei stood by quietly, her hands folded in front of her. She looked back and forth nervously, and ventured meekly, "I'm sorry, but what are we talking about?"

"I imagine that those techniques involve beating someone in the head until fluid leaks out of their ears," Shinji suggested. Rei looked at him aghast.

"Um…what are we…?" she began again before trailing off. Shinji turned and explained the situation to her as Alisha continued to rail against him. In the meantime, Mycroft studied each of the children thoughtfully, and then threw out an idea that made all three stare at him in shock.

"Why not let Rei interrogate the third one?"

* * *

"I…" Rei looked at Shinji nervously, then back at Mycroft. "I don't think this is wise." They had been led to a secure part of the Annexe, in one of the underground passages. There were uniformed NERV men here, all of them armed with truncheons and pistols.

"Well, why not? Look, young Shinji here will be asking questions, and Miss Alisha shall as well. Surely you would like to take a stab at interrogating one of these hooligans?"

"I wouldn't know how to," she stammered.

"I have to agree with her," Shinji said, "It seems cruel to make her attempt this. I have a good idea of how to question someone, and…Miss Alisha is…" He looked at her, and she scrunched her nose at him.

"Is what?" she said testily.

"I think she could persuade a man talk in time," he said, ignoring the question. "Rei is…we've already thrown her into deep waters. One thing at a time?"

"Nonsense!" Mycroft said grandly. "She is a girl of acute intelligence and observational ability, and if I'm correct, she did assist in helping you to capture one of these toughs, yes?"

"Who has yet to regain the ability to speak," Shinji pointed out.

"I'm not used to flying," Rei offered in her defense.

"All the more reason, wouldn't you say?" Mycroft brushed aside anymore protest, escorting Rei to one of the cells. "You'll do splendidly, my dear. You need not worry about remembering anything he blabbers about. We have specialists listening in to each cell, recording whatever is spoken. Just go on in, take a crack at it, and have fun!"

"I'm not the kind of person who likes to crack things, Mr. Holmes…" she pleaded, but he opened the cell door before she could say anything else. She looked into the room, mortified, then back at Mycroft. She sighed, her shoulders sagged, and she marched into the cell like a petulant child sent to bed without supper.

"English is a bit of a…how do you say it? A wet herring," Alisha said, nudging Shinji in amusement. He looked at her with a disapproving glance.

"You mean a wet fish," he grumbled, heading into another cell.

Alisha stared after him. "A herring _is_ a fish," she snapped. She stomped her foot in irritation as the cell door closed, and marched into the final cell.

* * *

Shinji sat down, and studied the man chained down across the table. The man stared back.

"Don't try none of your Oriental tricks, little Jap," the man grunted, "I won't talk, no matter what you try or say."

Shinji's eyes narrowed. "Always with the slurs. You throw ethnic slurs out all over the place. Why is that?" The man clammed up, giving him an arrogant look. Shinji leaned back. "I could make a few theories about why that is. Being part of the criminal establishment, it is clear that upbringing was of a poor quality, or generally lacking. Perhaps you were an orphan, making your bread on the street and now here you are, and yet that scar on your left hand would indicate otherwise."

The man narrowed his eyes back at Shinji, and unconsciously covered his hand. "Yes, that would be the kind of scar a young man would get clearing the threads from a mechanical loom. Dangerous work, but they give it to boys. It's not the kind of job one would earn a hefty income from, and the nimble fingers can navigate the threads and machinery more rapidly. And if you loose some fingers, what does it matter? there's always more where you came from. A hard life for a child.

"An orphan wouldn't be employed in a job like that. No, he'd be in one of the poorhouses, or running wild on the streets. Or working at something even _more_ dangerous and less profitable. No, you work on the looms if you need to support someone. Someone close. Someone you cared for. You wouldn't do that work for someone you hated." The man looked away, radiating subtle discomfort.

"Well," Shinji said, nodding. "That person is still on your dole? Still under your support, even now." The thug glanced at Shinji before he could mask his expression. "More profit in the profession of crime, a more steady income, is it?" The man remained silent.

Shinji continued. "You are covered in dirt and other grime, yet it's clear that there was once something that hung around your neck on a small chain. Something valuable, that you would dare not take with you on your criminal excursions. Something to remind you of a loved one. You wear something like that long enough, and the marks remain. I can see them even now.

"So who is it, then? A sister? Mother? Disabled father or brother?" He studied the man's face carefully, noting the subtle indications of stress at the mention of the word 'mother.' Even bad men must love someone, and frequently that would be dear old Mum. He felt a sudden internal scolding threaten to bubble up, and he clamped that down. His own issues with Mother would have to wait for the moment.

"I'm sure she doesn't think harshly of what you do," Shinji said quietly, "If she knows at all, that is. It's hard to find such a devoted son, one who would fall in with such rough individuals just to make sure his mother is comfortable." Sweat beaded up on the man's forehead, and his fingers worked on the table.

"But who will take care of her if you go to prison? For you most assuredly are. Attacking agents of a military organization, in league with a man who has murdered members of Her Majesty's government! It's not exactly treason, but I'm sure some up-and-coming prosecutor might be interested in throwing the full weight of the law at you. And that is how your mother will remember her sweet, devoted son. A traitor to the Crown as he kicks his last dance hanging from the end of a rope. And then what happens to her…alone…ostracized by her neighbors…it's all a horrid mess you've gotten her into, isn't it?"

Shinji continued, hammering away at the man's resolve with the tales of woe to befall her mother, and how much she had already sacrificed for him up to this point. By the end of his assessment, the man was a blubbering mess, and willing to tell Shinji whatever he asked.

* * *

Alisha swirled into the room in a ruffle of red petticoat and strawberry perfume. The prisoner sat back in his chair, surprised. He had not been in the cabin with her, but rather was the one that Shinji had chucked down the stairwell. He knew her not, and was still trying to wrack his criminal's mind for why a young and fashionable girl had materialized in his interrogation cell.

"I shall be brief," she said quickly and sharply. "You will talk. You will answer each question truthfully and honestly, and if you do not, I will make every second you sit in that chair one more second you will plead for release from your increasingly miserable existence. Is that clear?"

There was a moment's silence. For a breath of time, the man stared at Alisha, stunned. Then he started giggling. Then snorting. Then full out laughing.

"Little girl, I don't know 'oo you think you are, but I suggest you go play wit some dolls and leave me be. I'm not telling anyone anyfing, and if you think you can bat your eyelashes at me and make me sing, you're barking mad!" He wasn't watching her, instead leaning over the table trying to catch his breath, his palms flat on the surface. Her face began to twist, slowly and dangerously, as the laughing continued, until her eyes were burning and her teeth were bared.

Her skirt swirled, and her leg came up remarkably high. It was a most shocking thing, and any person of decent upbringing would blush at the sight of her suddenly exposed bloomers, but such scandal would have passed quickly as the hard heel of her boot came down in a sweeping arc, landing on the thug's hand with an audible crunch.

"Jesus…_wept_!" he snarled, snatching his hand back to him and gripping his wrist.

"Perhaps you are not used to dealing with women of a respectable nature," she said, her Berlin accent now very pronounced. She began pacing slowly by the side of the table. "But let me be clear: I will disabuse you of any notion that I am, what you would call, a street-walking tart. Now, let us begin again. I will ask questions-"

"You broke me bloody 'and, you Kraut peacock!" he snapped. She grabbed the injured hand's wrist, and slammed it down on the table with strength that surprised and frightened him. He gasped in pain as the hand was jarred by the violent motion, and wailed hysterically when her fist came up and down onto the wounded appendage.

"Have we remembered our manners yet?" she said coyly.

"I'll 'ave you before the magistrate! I 'ave rights, by God!" he whimpered. She stood up, and with a casual motion flipped the heavy table out from in front of him, with a single hand. He squirmed in his seat as she stood in front of him, and leaned over. Her pretty features snarled into a grin that looked positively vicious, and she gripped his manacles, eliciting a groan of pain.

"God is not here right now," she hissed, "It is just you and me, and I will be taking confession today." The terrified man whimpered in his chair.

* * *

Rei sat across from the thug. She sat demurely, and studied him, and he stared back quietly. The silence lingered for far longer than he was prepared for, and he finally began to get uncomfortable.

"Well," he murmured. "Ain't you…going to ask questions, or sumfin?"

"I'm not sure what to ask, or how, precisely," she quietly. "I've never conducted an interrogation before."

He squinted at her, then looked around. He felt that this was a trick. It had to be a trick. "What, they've got you, a little pixie, in 'ere to…what? Just stare at me?"

"It would seem," she confessed. He sat very still, then slammed his hands on the table, snarling at her and jerking forward. She continued to demurely stare, not fazed in the slightest.

"Ain't you scared of me? You know what kind of man I am? What I'd do if I weren't chained down?" he grated.

"There's no reason to be scared," she said. "You are chained down, so there's nothing you can do so long as I stay on this side of the table. Besides, it would hardly matter what kind of a man you are. I do not believe you would be able to hurt me."

"You take a lot on my good graces. Pretty little girls is just easy necks to break. Like twisting a chicken's 'ead." He pantomimed the motion.

"I think you misunderstand my meaning, but…never mind," she said, waving a hand in the air at an errant thought. "I am more interested in trying to figure out how to obtain information from you. This somewhat distressing for me. I don't want to disappoint anyone." She nibbled the tip of a finger, then looked at him. "How would _you_ go about interrogating someone?"

He cocked his head like a dog hearing a whistle. "I…_what_?"

"I'm just curious. Have you ever interrogated someone before?"

"Eh…um…well, yeah, lot's of times. I've 'ad to get answers outta blokes before. Nuffing to it, really. I just…" He sat back, strangely elated to talk about something he had considered himself a professional at. "Well, you see…every man is like a puzzle, see?"

"A puzzle?" Rei asked, suddenly interested.

"Yeah, and you just 'ave to figure out how to put the pieces together. Me, I like to work on a man's fingers," he said crudely, giving her an ugly smile. "Just start makin' little cuts lengthwise. Make 'em deeper each time. 'E'll squeal like a canary in no time, mark you."

"That seems less like putting a puzzle together and more like…_not _putting a puzzle together," she said thoughtfully, sounding slightly disappointed. He shrugged.

"Not every puzzle is put together the same way. 'Ere, think of it this way. You got this smarmy little squire, and 'e's 'olding on to your puzzle pieces. Best way to get 'em might be to cut out 'is liver while 'e watches, or another way might be stab 'im in the gums with a nail. You just 'ave to find the right pressure." He grinned at her, his teeth blackened with rot.

She squinted in thought. "That's a bit crude for my tastes," she said, "And I do not think that Shinji or Mr. Holmes would want me to damage you too much." She tugged her lip, and thought. "Well…your explanation of pressure is certainly enlightening. I could try something else." Her eyes suddenly flicked to him, and for some reason, he winced. He couldn't tell why, but it felt like an appropriate reaction.

* * *

"It's not really in the interest of NERV to act as a charity to criminals and their dependents," Mycroft explained gently, but Shinji was adamant.

"This fellow, at risk to himself and his family, spoke to us. _Is_ willing to speak more on the issue, and this is a good sign. As long as his family remains at risk, though, he is someone who can be manipulated into silence. It is in our interest to show this man a certain amount of clemency, and to assist his mother. This will earn his trust, and he will be much more willing to not only share secrets, but corroborate others. This is not charity, it's an investment!" Shinji said, his fist bouncing in the palm of his hand for emphasis.

Mycroft shrugged. "I just fear that if it gets out we're assisting criminals pay their bills, we'll be flooded with cases of false confessions. And to think nothing of what the government might do to our funding if they heard what we were spending it on."

Shinji was very still for a moment. "Mycroft," he said, "You have been given a blank check by Her Majesty's government. Use it!" The older man blinked, having to remind himself that Shinji was only fourteen. He carried himself like someone so much older.

"I do believe it was a mistake letting my brother educate you," he murmured. "Made you a bit of a bully, I warrant."

"You should have seen me before-"

Shinji was interrupted by hysterical screaming. The thug who had been placed in Rei's room was being dragged by his arms down the hall, squirming, kicking, and shrieking like a dying man. "No! No! Anyfing! I'll tell you everyfing I know!" he wailed. "I nicked purses all me life! Last one was two weeks ago! I beat a man to deaf behind the Ten Fiddlers and sold 'is body to a pie shop! I'll tell you which one! Don't put me back in there! God in 'Eaven, don't do it! Please! Please!" Shinji and Mycroft turned as one to watch the man dragged down the hallway. They then turned back to whence he had come, where Rei stood looking a bit lost.

"I…made him talk," she murmured. "I fear I used the wrong kind of pressure. Perhaps I should have been a bit more…um…gentle."

"No, no!" Shinji said quickly, "Stark, raving lunatic is a good sign. We can work with that."

"My dear, perhaps you could enlighten me…as to…" Mycroft began.

"I'd rather not," Rei said rapidly, turning a little pale.

"Why would you want to know?" Shinji whispered through gritted teeth. Mycroft shrugged.

"Intellectual curiosity. I imagine my brother would find it fascinating as well," he admitted, when the second prisoner was brought down the hallway, more helped than herded.

"She's out of 'er mind!" he raged through broken teeth, "She's loopy, that one. You keep 'er away from me!" He was un-manacled, which seemed only fair considering his extremities seemed quite useless right now. The fingers on both hands splayed crazily in unnatural directions, indicative of severe dislocation and fracturing.

"One for the infirmary, sir," the NERV man said, roughly handling the man. He yelped in agony, cursing at the NERV men, and Mycroft, Shinji, and Rei pressed against the walls as he was carried away. Alisha joined them, her arms crossed and her expression bored.

She sniffed. "He had very little of interest to say, but I trust that his words were taken down by your agents," she said to Mycroft. "We can make sense of his gibbering later."

Mycroft watched her walk away. "I say," he said, turning to Shinji, "She is a most _terrifying_ girl, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't know," Shinji murmured. "The transcripts of the interrogations, Mycroft. I imagine we should take a look at those immediately."

"I agree. See what our little fishing trip has reeled in, eh?" Mycroft rubbed his hands gleefully, and led Shinji towards the central meeting room where the recorders would be compiling their transcripts. As he passed Rei, she caught his elbow.

"I'm not a bad person," she said defensively.

"I didn't say you were," he replied, surprised.

"Just…I'm not a bad person." She lowered her eyes miserably, and hurried out of the hall, leaving Shinji curious and wondering.

* * *

When Shinji entered the parlor, Alisha was sipping gently from a cup of coffee while Rei toyed with a tea cake. She glanced up at him, then back down at the pastry. Admittedly, the look froze him for a moment after he read the transcript of her…session. To be fair, though, Mycroft had pushed her into it, and it was clear she had no clue of what she was doing. She was making it up as she went.

Still…probably best not to have her do any more interrogations. Period.

"Well, Japanese," Alisha began grandly, laying her cup on the saucer in her hand, "What news do you bring?"

"Well, after…heavy examination of the transcripts from Alisha's interrogation, my own, and…" he coughed "…Rei's session," he murmured, earning a bright blush of embarrassment from the girl. "And…paid medical leave for those who took it down…to allow them time to recuperate from the stress…" He furrowed his brow, and thought hard. "I need a moment for me to…Rei, we will…talk about appropriate interrogation techniques in the future. Something a little less…" He searched his mind for the proper word.

"Severe?" Rei offered.

"I was going to say 'ruthless,' but 'severe' will work. Let us go with severe," he said quickly. Alisha raised an eyebrow, glancing between Rei and Shinji.

"Well, I must say, my curiosity has been aroused," she said, standing up. "Let me see that transcript."

"I…um…perhaps not. There is the matter of confidentiality…" Alisha was trying to take the sheaf of papers from him, but he was moving them to prevent her from grabbing the documents. "Clearance of information, respect to-"

In irritation, she jabbed him in the ribs with her thumb. He grunted and doubled-over, allowing her to relieve him of the papers. "As I was saying," he grated, leaning against the table as Alisha began to shuffle through the pages. "There are points of similarity to the collected data. One of the shared items in question was their recruitment at the Jack Tar's Delight, a drinking house in the East End near the docks." He wasn't sure exactly what Alisha had done, but his pelvis had begun to go numb, and this filled him with a mild concern. He glanced at her as she eagerly devoured page after page of the transcript.

"Most impressive," Alisha murmured. Her eyes widened on one page. "Very impressive," she continued, "I may have to change my opinion of you, English. What you lack in subtlety, you make up for in imagination." Alisha smiled at Rei, and dropped the papers onto the parlor table. Rei could have guided ships to safety around the Rock of Gibraltar with her blush of embarrassment.

"I'm not a _bad_ person," she insisted, though no one had implied as such.

"No, you're not. We just…probably shouldn't leave you unsupervised in future interrogations," Shinji offered.

"Ridiculous notion," Alisha said, "I say we make it her job and give her full reign."

"You _would_, because you are a bad influence," he said tartly.

"Watch your words, Japanese, or I swear I will show you what I can do with my thumb when I _really_ want to hurt you!" she growled, holding it at arm's length like a pistol. That did give Shinji a moment's pause. His gradual loss of sensation in the nether regions was something that had begun to press on his mind with more insistence.

"So we should probably investigate this drinking house, yes?" Rei said meekly. Alisha and Shinji continued to stare each other down, and Rei coughed. "So we should PROBABLY investigate this drinking house YES!" she repeated, much more loudly this time.

"Yes, it would be a good place to divert our attentions," Shinji prattled, turning away from Alisha. "If Lord Blackwood or one of his agents recruited there, then…" The numbness had halted at his chest, but was traveling down to his thighs. He blinked, limping over to one of the overstuffed chairs. "Then," he continued, "We need to send some NERV men there to stake the place out. Observe it's regulars, it's comings and goings, and…stuff." Was it possible for internal organs to fall asleep? Misato had taught him a lot about rupturing organs, but not this.

"You don't look like you're feeling very well," Rei said in concern. Alisha lightly sat down in a chair across from Shinji, and crossed her legs in a masculine fashion.

"Oh, I'm fine…a little winded." He made a vague gesture. "Sleeping in the parlor and all…catches up with you. Tea would be nice, is there tea left?"

"I can have a fresh pot brought in," she offered, happy to help. "Would you like anything, Miss Alisha?"

"No, Miss Rei, thank you kindly," she responded with syrupy sweetness.

"I'll be right back," Rei said, hopping up and leaving the parlor. Shinji was breathing raggedly now.

"What did you do to me, you Teutonic she-demon?" he muttered. His tongue was starting to go numb now, as well. This was becoming truly intolerable.

"Relax, Japanese. It will subside in a few minutes. Let it be a lesson to treat me with a bit more respect in the future, yes?" She gave him a radiant smile, and he cursed himself a fool when he felt a flock of butterflies nestle in his stomach, a truly odd sensation when coupled with the general numbness of the region.

"You will _get_ respect when you _give_ respect, and not a moment before," he snapped, and something flickered in her eyes at his continued defiance. He made note of it before another valid fear popped into his head. "Oh, Lord, please tell me I'll maintain bladder control through this."

"You are being overly dramatic," she sighed, rolling her eyes. For a time, they sat and said nothing. She cast a surreptitious glance back in his direction, watching as he was massaging his jaw with his hands.

"Oh, thank God, it's passing. It's passing," he finally announced.

"We have got off on the wrong foot, I think," she said quietly. He turned his eyes towards her, still working his jaw and still relieved that sensation was returning to his torso.

"_You_ got off on the wrong foot, with that coffee business. _I_ merely…" she gave him a dirty look, and he held up his hands in surrender. "All right, fair enough. You're right. We've not had a very good working relationship from the start."

"Then perhaps we need to do something to rectify it. Something to help us better understand each other," she said thoughtfully, musing.

"I take it you have a suggestion," he ventured.

She said nothing, still thinking. But then, she perked up. "Have you been to the Royal English Opera House in Westminster?" she asked coyly.

"I have not had the pleasure."

"They are showing a film there. _The Duke of Marlborough_. Have you ever seen a film?" She seemed strangely shy when asking. Shinji tugged at his lip.

"I have not. I have heard of moving pictures, however, and have been most interested to see one for myself," he admitted.

"Perhaps we should take the time for a viewing…maybe even a dinner afterward," she said, her posture disinterested but her eyes strangely intense. A word of warning sounded in his mind, but Shinji ignored it.

"That would be grand. I imagine Rei would like to accompany us," he said. She gave him a strange look, and he backpedaled. "After _we've_ had a chance to view it, of course. For ourselves." She smiled thinly at that, and he wondered what he had gotten himself into.

"That would be excellent. A chance for us to get to know each other a bit more," she said happily. As she did, Rei returned leading one of the kitchen staff, who was carrying a fresh tray.

"Would you still like some tea?" she asked cheerfully. Shinji nodded, and Rei poured a cup and poured some milk into it. She dropped three lumps of sugar in, without being asked. Shinji was grateful and touched that she remembered that, and then that little word of warning came back again. She handed him the cup with a shy grin, and he accepted it with a thank you. Alisha was grinning, as well.

Shinji sipped at the tea, remembering something his father had said and understanding now what was buzzing in his mind. When all the women in the room were grinning, and there was only one man present, God knew that the man was headed for a world of trouble.


End file.
